Dobby popped in to tell Hermione that Winky, the poor dear, had gone back to thinking Crouch would take her back. "She has stopped looking for work, Winky has. It shames her when she is seeing other houses ask why Crouchy cast her out, and she isn't telling them. I is telling her, Miss Hermione, that Crouchy is never accepting Winky's help again, I is. He has cast her out, and it is unheard of for a master to accept a house elf back." He paused, looking up at her with wide eyes, as if deciding whether or not to keep talking. Eventually, he continued.

"I thinks she should give up her Crouchy's secrets. I was saying so, and she doesn't listen to Dobby now. She thinks that Crouchy's secrets is still her secrets, but he is not her master!"

"I see. You did well, Dobby, and I'm sorry it didn't work. I hope she realizes soon how much happier she will be if she weren't pining after Barty Crouch." Hermione's eyebrows frowned. Since learning about the mutual symbiosis of house elf bonds – the elf gains magical strength and stability, the human gains a laborer – it wasn't a perfect solution, but she couldn't manage a better one with the threat of Voldemort looming overhead.

"Can I talk to her?" Hermione said tentatively.

Dobby's face was screwed up in thought. He shook his head a bit. "No, Miss Hermione," he said, shaking his head so vigorously that his ears slapped him across the face. "No, that would be a bad idea for Winky. She isn't ready to talk to humans, I think." He was tense, she realized, looking at his small frame jittering in front of her.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Why was he tense? Did he expect her to refuse him?

When she thought about it, this was the first time Dobby had refused her; she had honestly started to wonder if he could, even though she always phrased her questions as requests and told Dobby to use his best judgement. While she thought she could do a good job of convincing Winky to help her, she wasn't going to force it.

That went against the whole point of S.P.E.W., after all.

"Very well, but when you feel it's safe, let her know that I'll be happy to talk to her," she said, giving Dobby a small smile. Something in his stance relaxed a little, and she had to keep herself from being aghast. Dobby came from a home that would've probably told him to beat himself if he had said the same things to them as he did to her. It was natural for him to be nervous around any human, and it was honestly impressive that he had adjusted to working with her so well.

"Please take care of her, Dobby. I know how important she is to you."

"Oh I is already taking care of her, but Dobby will continue." He said, and popped out of existence.

Hermione sat down on her camp bed, the springs creaking as she settled down to think. Her classroom was a very nice place to think, for barring Dobby or disaster, no one could get to her here. (Or Severus, said a voice in her head, but dismissed it immediately, both because she was quite cross with the man and because he had never made it past her wards).

Severus was incredibly infuriating these days. He really seemed to think she was "unfit for duty," as he called it, and was determined to smack some sense into her in detentions. It was frankly embarrassing for both of them. At this point, she was far from being student-aged, when you counted her physical aging in this timeline and her time-jumping.

She grumbled to herself about men and melodrama. At one point this year, Severus was her only confidant, honestly the only one she could count on to know anything. And strange as it was calling Severus a confidant, no other label seemed to fit him. Their relationship had progressed far past Professor and Student, and there was no way she was considering him a "friend." She snorted softly. Draco was the only person taking her seriously right now, the only one who really got her. She would wait until after the second task, and convince him that she was in her right mind. After the second task was when they could really start helping Harry, after all. That was the last milestone that he would be on display, where Voldemort could possibly get a clue that he was anything but an average student.

He wouldn't expect a warrior, and that was what Hermione intended to give him. Well, that and a few other things. All of their eggs were in this basket: they would kill Voldemort at the end of the year. They needed to work out the logistics of exactly how to get her, Draco, and now Severus into the graveyard, but magic was on their side in this: Voldemort couldn't create anti-apparition wards or anti-portkey wards, because he needed the former for his followers and the latter for Harry's arrival. If only they could make portkeys from Hogwarts to the graveyard, they could arrive seconds after Harry under disillusionment. But Dumbledore was the only one who could make portkeys inside Hogwarts.

She would know, having basically memorized Hogwarts: A History. It was one of the most basic safety measures for the school. No, Hermione simply didn't trust Dumbledore to make the right decisions, to work on a team with them.

Dumbledore had a tendency to sit back and watch as things unfolded, never directly intervening. And if Severus, his right-hand man, were to feed him false information, he would never learn enough to finally intervene. Or he would send Severus to intervene, which (despite her personal grumblings concerning Severus) would practically insure that their plans would work out.

Hermione laid back on her cot. She had only a few scant hours before she would replace herself for the night, the one who was currently asking Neville to help Harry with his underwater troubles (She didn't want to pull Dobby away from his other duties). That meant a few hours and she would be put in an enchanted sleep under the lake, and it really just didn't have the same effect as sleep. She let her eyes drift closed, uneasy dreams full of bright lights in the dark.

Hermione awoke to the sound of chimes, her alarm for returning from her do-over day. She lugged herself to her feet. It was time to be a hostage. She replaced her old self in the second-floor bathroom and returned to the library, where Ron and Harry were talking excitedly.

"I bet you can get whatever thing they've put down there in ten minutes! This Gilly-stuff, it'll really do the trick!" Ron said supportively.

Hermione's lip curled in disgust. "What's that?" She said, gesturing to the soggy brown mess in Harry's hand.

"Gillyweed," he said, looking just as grossed out as she. "It'll make me breathe underwater."

"Oh but Harry, that's wonderful!" She crowed excitedly. "Wherever did you get it?"

"Neville." Harry said proudly. "Knicked it from Snape's stores and everything- said he crashed into a few bottles on the way out, but who cares? It's only Snape."

"Professor Snape," Hermione said absently. "But that was really dangerous, and quite nice of him too! He must really care about you, Harry, to confront his greatest fear for you." Harry gave her a look that clearly said he hadn't thought about that before. She loved her boys, she really did, but they could be incredibly thick. Who could forget Neville's Severus in old witch's clothes? "Anyway, I'm sure you'll do just fine, Harry. All you have to do is find whatever's in the Great Lake."

"Yeah, just search the entire Great Lake before an hour runs out and I end up drowning. Piece of cake." He said glumly, looking at his pile of Gillyweed tendrils.

"Better you than me," Ron said.

At that moment, McGonagall walked into the library. "Ah, Mister Weasley," she said briskly. "Your presence is needed this evening."

Hermione blinked.

"Ermm… whut?" Ron said ineloquently. "I mean, what do you need, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, a sure sign that she disapproved of something. "It will be explained in time. If you could please follow me?"

Ron went to grab his bag, but McGonagall said to leave it. "Mister Potter can return it to your dormitory, I trust?"

Harry nodded, and off she swept, Ron trailing behind her.

"What d'you reckon that's all about?" Harry asked.

She didn't respond for a moment. "I… I don't know. Its really weird." She looked down at the book she had opened. "Just really weird."

"Yeah," Harry said, looking at her as if she had sprouted another eye in the middle of her head. "You alright, Hermione?"

She forced her gaze back into focus, looking at Harry in the eyes. "Oh, yes, I must be tired is all. Oh, I had an idea for you, Harry – did you know it's possible to cast spells without saying the words?" She said, focusing with an intensity far more extreme than was really needed.

Harry shook his head. "Nah, but it makes sense, doesn't it? Tom from the Leaky never said any spells when we were in Diagon, and unless they're teaching us something, I dunno if the professors ever use words when they cast."

"Yes, exactly. Listen, I did some light reading on it, and now that we know you have Gillyweed I think you have a good chance of casting spells underwater as long as you can do them silently, because it's really quite simple. It's the same theory of will as forcing off the imperious, or casting more advanced spells like accio-"

Harry cut her off. "Hermione?" He asked quickly. "You're ranting a bit."

She sighed audibly. He was right, she was speaking too fast for him to process. It was something she did when she was nervous. "Sorry, Harry. Do you want to try casting a simple spell silently?"

"What, like lumos?"

"Perfect. Really, all you have to do is think the words in your head, and really want it to happen. Give it a try." She gestured towards him.

"Alright, erm," he furrowed his brow, and mouthed the word for 'lumos' quite cartoonishly. Nothing happened. "I dunno about this, Hermione." He scratched the back of his head, mussing his hair.

"Try again."

Once more, Harry squinted at the tip of his wand in concentration, and mouthed 'lumos.' The faintest spark appeared at the tip of his wand, like a dying torch. "It's working!" he said excitedly. 'Lumos!' he mouthed once more, and a brilliant light shone on their table. Madam Pince looked over disapprovingly.

"Blimey, Mione, I didn't realize how easy it'd be!" He said, grinning at the new trick. Hermione smiled back, but it was decidedly hollow. She was glad that she confirmed one of her theories about teaching Harry – he was millions of times better if he thought it was an easy thing to do beforehand, but if he was nervous or self-conscious, he did very badly.

No, Hermione was worried for an entirely different reason: she was not Viktor Krum's hostage.

Author's Note: Thanks as always for reading and for dealing with my slow updates! Oh my gosh guys I'm so sorry for the long break! I just got back to school for my senior year of undergrad, there was a hurricane, and I'm taking a novel-writing course where I have to write some original stuff. All in all, I haven't had a lot of time for fanfic! I'm not gonna lie, I kinda lagged at this chapter because I was having a lot of trouble deciding what to do with the second task. My motivation is super down for this story, so any words of encouragement would help a lot.