THEY SAT TOGETHER along the banks of the Black Lake, silently enjoying one another's company. Overhead, fluffy, white clouds moved slowly across the blue sky. Then, he cleared his throat and met her dark eyes. "You have to tell him."

Pansy shook her head. Though they hadn't said anything, both couldn't help but think of the previous day, and Draco's sudden outburst in the common room. Deep down, she knew it wasn't fair to him: knew it wasn't fair that this boy was supposedly her best friend ( so much a best friend that she couldn't imagine marrying him ), and yet she couldn't tell him. "No, Blaise. You know I can't." 

"You told me."

"It's different with you. I was supposed to marry Draco, and if he knew— just imagine the horrible things that could happen, Blaise, because I can promise you it'd be horrible." The short-haired girl continued to shake her head, all sad eyes and even sadder facial expressions.

"You don't know that though," the dark-skinned boy tried to reason. "He may surprise you. He may prove to be the most supportive of us all."

She gave him a pointed look. "Did you not see the look in his eyes when I mentioned that Third Year being gay? It was almost like he'd mentally sided with the Sixth Year. He's impossibly traditional, Blaise: perhaps even more traditional than the rest of us. In his eyes, homosexuals are as good as dead."

"That's not true!" Blaise argued.

"What's not true?"

The two had hoped to have privacy along the Black Lake, but of course that wouldn't be the case. They turned around to find the green eyes of Harry Potter staring at them, his dark hair even more frazzled than usual.

"What're you doing here, Potter?" Blaise asked defensively, moving as if to stand up and grab his wand. Harry only held his hands up in a peaceful gesture, his gaze focusing on Pansy.

"It's Hermione. She's sick." Silent words passed between the Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Pansy stood quickly. She turned to Blaise for a moment, taking his hand warmly in her own.

"We'll finish this discussion soon, Blaise. I'm sorry." And then, she walked off with the green-eyed Gryffindor towards the Hospital Wing.

————— ↯ —————

In a more secluded section of the Hospital Wing, Hermione Granger laid amongst a bunch of fluffy, white pillows. Her head pounded terribly, and the potions she was given weren't doing much to help. Beside her, Ronald Weasley sat with all of his freckles and vibrant red hair: a worried look in his blue eyes. "Hermione," he began.

"Please, Ron..." she trailed. "Please don't."

He sighed, reaching forward and grabbing her hand. His eyes met her brown ones, sincerity in them. She shuddered at the touch of his fingertips against her heated skin. For the first time, she found herself speechless.

"I don't want to fight anymore." He whispered. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. For everything."

She couldn't speak: her eyes were locked on his. Her body was as stiff as a statue, though clammy. Her brain felt like mashed pulp, her gaze distant. She squeezed his hand to show that she'd heard him speak. He smiled, leaning forward to push a strand of her brown hair behind her ears. Her dark skin was tinted a slight pink.

"Get some sleep." He whispered, and her eyes fell closed heavily. She didn't feel him let go of her hand, didn't even hear him leave the Hospital Wing for his afternoon classes. Feverish dreams she failed to remember plagued her thoughts, and she was thrashing wildly against her sheets; they now felt more like ropes tied tightly around her body – Devil's snare, perhaps.

And then, "shhhh."

She opened her eyes, first taking notice of the silver and green tie this newcomer wore around her neck, and then her face. It was Pansy. Hermione blushed again, thinking of the night before and her dreams of herself and the Slytherin sitting on the grounds, sharing kisses and giggling. She frowned. That couldn't have been right: Hermione wasn't attracted to women.

"Pansy." Her voice was frail. In this moment, she didn't care what or whom she was attracted to. This girl had become something of a best friend to her in these recent times, what with all the fighting between herself and Ronald, and Harry's lack of presence in their lives due to his busy Triwizard Champion schedule.

"Shhh," the Slytherin soothed her again, pushing her sweat-soaked hair from her forehead. "Hermione, you're burning up."

There were tears in the Gryffindor's eyes. This was too much. Everything was too much. "What's wrong with me?"

Pansy leaned back in her chair. "Madam Pomfrey says it's a bit of a summer flu: nothing a little medicine can't fix. She says the lack of vitamins you've taken has played a part in this, as well as stress... apparently your immune system weakens the more stressed you are."

"That can't be right. It sounds made up." The brown-haired girl frowned, trying to sit up further in her bed. She found her body to be draped in some hospital-issued pajamas, and she found herself blushing again. She probably looked a right mess.

"You look like proper shite," Pansy announced, seemingly reading her thoughts. "But I don't care about that. What's been worrying you so much? Is it Weasley, because if it is, I swear I'll-"

"It's not him," Hermione interrupted. "We've made up. We're okay. It's Harry, I'm terribly worried about Harry. I've got this horrible feeling regarding the third task and I'm positively terrified for him."

The black-haired girl sighed. She didn't really know what to say about that. She'd prepared a whole speech about how terrible Weasley was and how she was far better off without him, but she'd never really had much of a problem with Potter. He was Draco's enemy, not hers. And he'd come to her to inform her about Hermione's sickness.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"I skipped it." The dark-eyed girl claimed simply. Hermione's eyes widened.

"You can't skip class just to come see me, Pansy! Snape will be furious with you."

"Let him be, I don't care. I'm more worried about you than some stupid Potions lesson anyways."

Hermione shook her head. "No, I can't- you can't-" she breathed out. "Pansy, why do you care so much about me?"

The Slytherin's expression hardened. The next words to leave her mouth felt like acid upon her tongue, because she was so much more than this to her. "You're my friend. I look out for my friends."

"Is that why you cast 'Depulso' and 'Immobulus' against that Sixth Year? You could've gotten into a lot of trouble for that."

"I don't care, Hermione." Pansy found herself grabbing the Gryffindor's hand, surprising herself and the other girl greatly. "You're who I care about."

She wished she could take the words back: wished desperately to do so. She pulled her hand from Hermione's quickly, horrified at what she'd done. She very well had just ruined everything. The brown-eyed girl frowned, lost in her thoughts for a long while. The Slytherin sat by anxiously, wanting to slip away and wanting to stay at the same time. She was frozen in her chair.

"Pansy, are- are you in love with me?"

The dark-haired girl gulped. "Perhaps just a bit."

————— ↯ —————

Draco Malfoy sat with Blaise at dinner, surprised that Pansy hadn't shown up to any of her afternoon classes. The blond hadn't the slightest clue as to where his friend was, but he also hadn't really concerned himself much with the matter either. She'd turn up eventually, after all. By curfew, at the very latest.

He watched the doors to the Great Hall open, and Potter and Weasley make their way inside. Granger didn't accompany them. Odd. The room was filled with excitable chatter. The third task was rapidly approaching, and everyone was making their final bets on whom they believed would win the tournament and provide eternal glory for their school. He was still pissed at Potter for entering the tournament — perfect Potter always found a way around the rules: always got himself on the brink of expulsion and then avoided it just because of his name and his power. He reminded him so terribly of himself, and that's why he believed he hated him so much.

The champions had learned that the third task was meant to be a maze; that's what Hagrid had been growing in the Quidditch Pitch all school year. It was meant to be dangerous, obviously, and Viktor Krum talked avidly about his plans for once he was inside. Due to his ranking in the tournament thus far, he would be entering the maze after Potter and Diggory, and Fleur Delacour would be following him soon afterwards.

"Shame we can only use our wands," the Bulgarian Quidditch star claimed. "I'd do quite well with a broomstick in there. Eternal glory sounds nice right about now."

"Oh, Viktor," Daphne Greengrass' voice pierced the air. She was batting her blue eyes towards him while her younger sister Astoria buried her nose in a book. "What will you do with the money once you win?"

"I'll buy an island," Krum decided. "One with enough space to practice my Quidditch and get away from the icy wastelands of Bulgaria."

"You'd leave your team?" The blonde asked in shock. The Quidditch star fell silent, obviously thinking about the Quidditch World Cup months previous, where he'd caught the snitch, but the Irish had won the game. He'd been scolded by his coach for hours afterwards: the whole team had. Later that evening, as Death Eaters attacked the many tents of fans of the Bulgarians and Irish alike, as he watched the Dark Mark paint the sky in its sickly greenish glow, he made his decision.

"In a heartbeat."

"Shouldn't you be rooting for your own school?" Blaise Zabini piped up, giving Daphne a look. Then, he glanced towards the broad-shouldered wizard: "no offense, of course."

"Potter doesn't stand a chance against Viktor," Daphne claimed, reaching forward and placing a hand on the clean-shaven man's bicep. He was in his usual dark robes of deep reds and browns and blacks. "And Diggory will hardly be any better."

"No," Krum stated. "Both Potter and Diggory will be very good competitors. They are strong. And we share something in common: Quidditch. They know that pitch, maze or not. I look forward to the challenge."

Daphne shut up after that.