Prologue

Hermione had always prided herself on being the "smartest witch of the century" according to Professor McGonagall's assurances and her own beliefs. I mean, she's the one who studies the best! Her grades are excellent and she's the one who pulls her hand out in every class to answer. Every time some aristocrat called her a 'mudblood' for the umpteenth time, she reassured herself with that very phrase. It was her backbone. The thing that kept her from breaking down in this overcrowded, snooty castle.

The smartest witch of the century! Sounds proud!

But unfortunately, it wasn't. Hermione remembers that unfortunate day like she does now. Fourth year. She had gotten a runes textbook from a sixth year girl and wanted to solve something from it. In the fortieth minute of her brainstorming session, a sleepy Harry passing by helped her, casually glancing over her shoulder. Helped with first year Oxford level math! Potter, on the other hand, had solved it with the stroke of a pen. So casually, as if he did it every day, while going about his daily business.

Granger realized at once that Harry wasn't that simple. Well, not quite immediately... After half an hour of tears, agony and thoughts like "It was definitely a turnover!" or "It wasn't Harry, I'm just overtired!" and after trying to follow him without success.

The next day in the morning Hermione stood outside the boys' bedroom with an example from the same textbook and a quill at the ready. Potter had solved it too. With a disgruntled look at the curly-haired girl, he scribbled down the solution to the most complicated example in just under a minute, leaving the shocked girl alone. The story repeated itself with the seventh year runes, and with the NEWT runes exam of the previous year. All week Granger had been in shock.

The witch decided to think about what she did NOT know about her friend. After thirty minutes of thought, she decided to reason in a different way: what did she KNOW about him? After another fifteen minutes Hermione was a little hysterical. All she knows about Potter is that he likes Quidditch and is pretty good at DADA. That's about it. She can't name his favorite color, hobby, anything!

Harry was always the silent type in that regard, never told her anything about himself. Everyone assumed it was out of shyness or something. He kept silent or smiled at direct questions, didn't participate in discussions or arguments. Just being around like some piece of furniture.

Hermione even caught herself with a frightening thought, "Does he consider Ron and I his friends?". Ron is the one who is constantly dragging himself behind him. She's the one who's always sitting next to him in class or in the library.

Dialogs with him are always one-sided. Well, you can't count "yes", "of course" and the like as complete answers, can you? He never plays chess or spitballs. He doesn't sit in the living room and talk about the teachers. They don't even know where he is very often. They're the ones who need him, and apparently not the other way around.

All of this needs to be sorted out. The parchment is there, the quill is there. Granger came up with the idea - to keep track and write down all of Harry's oddities. Maybe the great heiress of Rita Skeeter's deeds was dying in her. But through her snooping, she had gathered too much information that just couldn't be comprehended. It's all about Harry. The humble Boy Who Survived.

And in the end, that same Harry Potter doesn't take anything out of her hands. Not at all, not ever.

In fact, he tries not to touch anyone at all. And if at first Hermione thought that it was because of shyness, then in time it became clear that it was a banal squeamishness.

Harry Potter's eyes are always completely indifferent. He can smile, sad or laugh, but regardless of the rest of his facial expressions, his eyes express only boredom. But it is worth admitting that he is a good actor.

He always gets new charms on the third try. No more or less. On the first one he mispronounces a word, on the second one he makes an unnecessary movement with his wand, on the third one he performs the task badly, but he completes the task and that's the end of his performance in front of the audience.

Names. Names hardly ever came out of Harry Potter's mouth. In all the time Hermione had been watching him, only Dumbledore's name had come out of the Boy Who Survived's mouth.

Harry has been very twitchy and nervous lately. Hermione couldn't find a reason for it, but Potter acts like a drug addict without a dose. At least that's how they were shown on TV.

He's smoking! Some kind of Muggle cigarettes. Today Harry yelled at Ron for once again hitting him on the shoulder with his fat hand. He ran sharply out of the Great Hall and smoked two cigarettes at once near the nearest window. Then he conjured something with his wand, probably to remove the odor, and went back. Acting and apologizing to Ron. This time even Ron caught a slight faux pas, but he didn't seem to care.

HE'S CUTTING HIMSELF! Hermione was surprised to find that once again, when Potter went to the window near the Great Hall for a smoke, he took out a sharp folding knife and cut the forearm of his left hand and, clenching his eyes in pleasure, took a drag....

He had several knives in total: two folding knives, a razor knife that he sometimes uses for its intended purpose as well, and by the looks of it, it wasn't even half of his "collection". But... from where?

Hermione was shocked. This was no joke. The friend she thought they'd known for three years was actually... an image they'd kept in their heads and carefully tailored Harry's behavior to fit it. It was horrible. To watch and realize that you knew nothing about him. Even his trademark modesty appeared to be just a figment of the crowd's imagination. Yes, he keeps quiet when he's insulted or asked something he doesn't want to answer. He keeps quiet and stares. Indifferent. As if his thoughts are far away from here. The only shadow of emotion Hermione caught was when Ginny tried to suggest Harry go to Hogsmeade. There was some sort of... incomprehension in his eyes? Shock, even. He had refused, by the way. And then he looked after her with his typical polite smile and atypical incomprehension in his eyes.

When the foreign guests arrived, Hermione decided to watch her friend's reaction. She hoped to find something human in him, as she had begun to fear him lately, after all these discoveries. Potter greeted the Durmstrang students with a polite, interested smile and his trademark defeatist look. The Beauxbatons students at first, too. All of them except her. The indifferent look and polite smile was met with the same look and haughty face.

Oh, Granger caught that moment. It was a single moment, a crossing of glances, but she caught it. The interest. There was a flicker of genuine interest in his eyes. And she would have breathed a sigh of relief if that interest had been on a romantic or lustful level. No. She clearly sensed that the junkie had gotten his dose. But what exactly that "dose" was, she still couldn't figure out.

- Would you be so kind az to pazz ze booyah-a-bes, pleaze? - A loud voice called out to Harry. It was that veela. A slightly more obliging smile than necessary, a slightly overplayed accent, and an appraising look. There was no way Hermione would have noticed it before. But not after a month of watching Harry.

- Please," Harry slid the dish over to her. There was the truest emotion in his eyes - mockery. And it wasn't just Hermione who realized it, but that French girl as well. Hell, yes it was the truest dialog within a dialog. And Mione was missing the point. Didn't get what one was trying to say to the other. It was frustrating as hell. After all, the "Smartest Witch of the Century" couldn't be missing something.

Ron muttered something nearby, but no one paid him any attention.

The dialog with their eyes ended and both contestants dispersed to the sides of the ring.

The hour had come for the cup to choose the champions. Harry didn't care who the cup would choose, and it was evident this time by his entire posture.

Yesterday, when Ron asked, "Who do you think will be the champion?" Potter hadn't hesitated, but had thrown in, "Delacour, Krum, and Diggory."

As Granger had expected, it was their names that fell out of the cup. Potter sat there with an impassive face, as if his hitting three out of three was the most common thing in the world. Though maybe it was.

A fourth note flew out.

Before Dumbledore even opened his mouth, Hermione caught a glimpse of Harry's growing anger. He realized WHO the fourth champion would be.

The rage in his eyes was almost palpable. He strode into the room with the champions. Very smoothly, like a predator before an attack. Slightly hunched over and with a formerly polite smile that turned into an incomprehensible grin.

Granger was sure someone was going to die.

Lightning flashed on the ceiling of the Great Hall.