Harry Potter: The Golden Viper
0545 Possibility

0545 Possibility

Hagrid's casual remark sent an electric current of inspiration through Harry's mind. He whirled toward Hermione so quickly that his chair creaked in protest.

"Is it possible?" The words tumbled out of his mouth with barely contained excitement.

"What?" Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion, her tear-stained cheeks still glistening in the flickering firelight as she tried to interpret Harry's sudden enthusiasm.

Harry's mind raced with memories of house-elf magic which was powerful but often underestimated by most in the wizarding world. The prejudice that dismissed these creatures as simple servants had never taken root in Harry's mind, certainly not after his experiences with their extraordinary abilities.

His thoughts flickered back to that day at the start of second year, when Dobby had used his magic to seal Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, leaving him and Ron stranded and helpless. The image of Dobby effortlessly knocking Lucius Malfoy off his feet in Dumbledore's office also floated to the surface of his mind. If Hermione could bring her loyal house-elf into the tournament, their odds of success would increase exponentially!

"I mean," Harry leaned forward eagerly, his glasses catching the orange glow of the fire, "do the tournament rules specifically prohibit Fréodom or house-elves from participating in the tasks with you?"

"Bring Fréodom to the competition? That's Impossible, Harry. Crouch clearly said that we can't accept help from anyone. During the tasks, we can only rely on our own wands," Hermione's eyes widened with shock, her voice rising slightly as she stared at the small house-elf beside her.

Her initial instinct was to refuse outright, but Harry watched as something shifted in her expression - her eyebrows arched upward in that familiar way that told him she was beginning to analyze the possibilities. This subtle change in her demeanor caused Harry's face to light up with renewed hope.

"That means it's not explicitly forbidden, right?" Harry pressed his advantage, speaking more quickly now in excitement. "Fréodom is a house-elf, not a wizard or witch, and she belongs to you, doesn't she?"

"Can Fréodom help, Mistress Granger?" The little house-elf drew herself up to her full height, which barely reached Hermione's hip, trying to appear as capable as possible. Her high-pitched voice trembled with enthusiasm as she repeated, "Fréodom wants to help Mistress Granger in the tournament! Fréodom wants to help!"

Fréodom tilted her head pleadingly with her enormous eyes each the size of a tennis ball gleaming intensely in the firelight.

Hagrid shifted uncomfortably in his massive chair, clearly taken aback by how seriously Harry had interpreted his offhand comment. His dark eyes, barely visible through his wild tangle of hair, flickered uncertainly between Fréodom and Hermione as he wrestled with the implications of what he'd inadvertently suggested.

"No--" Hermione's voice cut through the silence. Harry's suggestion was undeniably tempting - having an assistant during the tournament would certainly ease the burden of whatever challenges lay ahead.

But as she gazed down at Fréodom, noting how the house-elf's head barely reached her thigh and how delicate her stick-like limbs appeared, Hermione drew in a deep, steadying breath. Her voice, when it came again, carried the unmistakable weight of conviction. "I can't do this, Harry. It's simply too underhanded!"

Seeing Harry's mouth open to argue further, Hermione quickly pressed on, her voice growing stronger with each word. "You've seen the records of past Triwizard Tournament tasks, Harry. They're absolutely horrific! Fréodom is still practically a baby, not even a year old. I cannot - I will not - knowingly put her in harm's way." Her fingers twisted anxiously in her robes as she continued, "Besides, Fréodom isn't my property - she's free. She shouldn't have to risk her life for me!"

"Fréodom belongs to Mistress Granger! Mistress Granger gave Fréodom clothes!" The house-elf's high-pitched voice cracked with emotion as she clutched the carefully modified vest - once part of Hermione's school robes - that hung from her tiny body. "Fréodom wants to help Mistress Granger win the tournament!"

"Please, don't say anymore, Fréodom--" Hermione's hand flew to her mouth, her front teeth throbbing slightly at the movement. Her eyes glistened with fresh tears as she spoke more gently, "If you truly want to support me, then just cheer for me during the tournament!"

'Could "cheering" be interpreted as being allowed to help?'

A calculating look flickered across Fréodom's face as she blinked her enormous eyes, clearly analyzing the exact meaning of 'cheering' and whether it might possibly be interpreted as permission to help. But she remained tactfully silent with her tennis ball-sized eyes fixed thoughtfully on the floor.

Hagrid released a heavy sigh of relief - partly for Hermione's integrity, but also for more selfish reasons. He had spent some time with Fréodom and had to admit that house-elves were indeed excellent helpers. Plus, He'd grown quite fond of Fréodom's company during his nightly patrols and fireside conversations - something Fang could never quite provide.

"Don't worry yourself too much, Hermione--" Hagrid's eyes darted shrewdly toward the window, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow still managed to rumble like distant thunder. "Professor Watson's kept everything under wraps. Apart from him and Dumbledore, no one knows what's coming in the first task. But you know me..."

A knowing smile crept through his tangled beard. "If they're bringing anything interesting onto the grounds, I'm usually the first to know about it."

Harry and Hermione gaped at Hagrid's sheepish smile and surprisingly unsubtle hint, momentarily struck speechless by his blatant offer of assistance.

The possibility of advance information about the tasks visibly lifted Harry's spirits. If they could discover what challenges awaited, they could devise strategies to overcome them.

However, he noticed Hermione's obvious hesitation - her mind seemed to be struggling with the ethical implications. To her, the tournament represented more than just a competition; it was an academic challenge, as sacred as any examination and cheating in an exam was unthinkable to her.

Despite their best efforts, neither Harry nor Hagrid could completely sway Hermione from her ethical stance. However, by the time they prepared to leave Hagrid's cozy hut, her firm opposition had softened somewhat.

Although Hagrid's persuasion had helped temper Harry's anger toward Ron, neither he nor Hermione felt ready to face him just yet. They chose to stay at Hagrid's for dinner, staying until darkness had completely enveloped the grounds and when the Great Hall would likely be deserted of students.

The hospital wing's plain white walls seemed to amplify Madam Pomfrey's concerned voice as she examined Hermione's teeth with professional scrutiny. "How in Merlin's name did you manage to get your teeth in such a state?"

"I was preoccupied with tournament preparations, Madam," Hermione's voice wavered convincingly as she spoke around her probing fingers. "I wasn't paying attention and stepped into one of those tricky stairs - you know, the vanishing ones?" She said making a pitiful expression. "My teeth can be fixed, can't they? My father's a dentist, and if he notices they're crooked during Christmas break, he'll definitely make me wear braces."

Harry hovered nearby, shifting anxiously from foot to foot as he watched Madam Pomfrey work. Guilt gnawed at his insides like a living thing - regardless of who had thrown the first punch, Hermione had been caught in the crossfire of his conflict with Ron.

Madam Pomfrey was experienced and could tell that Hermione's teeth had been injured for a while and wasn't as recent as she claimed, but as a professional healer, she rarely questioned how students managed to get themselves into various predicaments.

"Who do you think you're underestimating, Miss Granger?" she clicked her tongue disapprovingly, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone. "I can have your teeth perfect in the time it takes to enjoy a cup of hot chocolate." Her sharp eyes turned to Harry. "Potter, wait outside the curtain - you should know better by now--"

'Just fixing teeth, what's there to hide?' Harry thought irritably, his mind conjuring increasingly absurd scenarios of what could possibly require such privacy.

Nevertheless, he dutifully retreated to wait by the door, listening to the indistinct murmur of voices from behind the curtain. Whatever they were discussing seemed to require enough time to drink not just a cup, but an entire bucket of hot chocolate.

When Hermione finally emerged from behind the curtain after what felt like an eternity, her lips were pressed together so tightly they nearly disappeared, clearly trying to hide whatever changes had been made to her teeth.

"Let's head back, Harry--" she mumbled, carefully voicing each word.

Harry's restraint in not asking about the procedure visibly relieved Hermione. In truth, she had seized the opportunity to have Madam Pomfrey make some additional improvements to her front teeth, motivated largely by those cruel badges Malfoy and Parkinson had created during Physical Education class.

Moreover, the knowledge that the tournament would be broadcasted live in many places like a Muggle sporting event had only strengthened her resolve to manage this longstanding insecurity.

As they began their journey back to the dormitory, Harry's thoughts turned increasingly dark because returning meant inevitably confronting Ron after their fight. Although Hagrid had advised them to stay calm, it wasn't an easy task at all!

"Haven't we forgotten something?" Hermione's voice cut through Harry's brooding as they absently climbed the stairs toward Gryfreplaceor Tower. The Fat Lady's portrait waited expectantly for the password when Hermione's face was suddenly drained of all color.

"What?" Harry's responded automatically, but even as the word left his mouth, an icy realization shot through him like a bolt of lightning, raising goosebumps along his arms.

"Oh, Professor Watson!" Their horrified voices echoed off the stone walls in perfect, terrified unison.

"What time is it, Harry?" They spun around so quickly they nearly lost their balance, but fortunately their Physical Education training kicked in and they sprinted down the corridor. While running down the stairs, Hermione displayed previously unknown athletic prowess as she vaulted clear over a banister like a seasoned gymnast.

"Nine o'clock!" Harry's panic-stricken voice bounced off the castle walls as he checked the watch Professor Watson had given him. His words came out in desperate gasps between breaths, "It's over, Hermione! Will Professor Watson think we're deliberately defying his punishment? What's he going to do to us? Will we get the same treatment he gave George in Physical Education?"

"Don't ask me!" Hermione's voice was shrill with terror as she performed another impressive leap over a section of railing, as her words echoed through the empty corridors, "I don't know anything!"

Five agonizing minutes later, they finally reached Professor Watson's office, with their robes disheveled and their lungs burning. They knocked on the heavy wooden door with trembling hands and their hearts were threatening to burst from their chests.

Inside, they found Bryan seated at his desk, staring thoughtfully at a large gift box before him.

"If you two hadn't come--"

As Harry and Hermione burst through the door, looking like they'd just escaped a dragon's den, his lips curled into an unsettling smile.

"I was just about to collect you from Gryfreplaceor Tower myself."

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