reputation - (h.p.)

1.20 . what the poets write about

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

SOMEHOW, THAT "PLENTY OF TIME until June" seemed to sprint right past the students, and before they knew it, it was the night before the third and final task of the Triwizard tournament. It was clear to anyone with eyes that Harry was taking this challenge far more seriously than the last two. (Although, to be fair, all that really means is that he didn't wait until the week of the task to start preparing.) No, he had largely abandonned his schoolwork for the past two months and poured most of his time into practicing for the challenge. Dumbledore had graciously called off exams due to the excitement awaiting the end of the tournament, so Gaia, Hermione, and Ron were constantly in the common room with Harry drilling him on what he would need to know. 

       "Harry, I think you might have a real shot at this thing," Hermione declared one night as the other three sat slumped in armchairs in the common room, exhasuted from the days they'd been spending preparing. Not Hermione, though, as she continued pacing the carpet and running through different possibilities. "I mean, really. You and Cedric are tied after the second task, which means you'll both get to be the first ones in and have extra time to find the Cup. We've gone over offensive and defensive strikes against wizards and land creatures. If there's somehow any sea creatures, we went over that for the second task. Gaia taught you every healing spell there is to know. And I found the four-point spell to help you navigate inside the maze."

       "What about me?" Ron whined, pulling his head off the arm of the couch in protest. 

       "You've been great moral support," Gaia answered, sarcastically sympathetic, to which Ron flashed her a rude finger. 

       "It isn't about you, Ronald," Hermione carried on. "It isn't about any of us, but Harry. And I think Harry could actually win this thing."

       "How many times have I told you I don't care about winning?" Harry groaned. "I'm just going for survival."

       "Well then, you're set!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her arms up with a broad smile. If she noticed that she was far more enthusiastic than the rest of them, she certainly didn't seem to care. "I hate to jinx us, but if someone did enter you into this tournament in hopes of killing you, they're going to have to try harder than that!"

       "HERMIONE!" the other three all protested immediately, followed by a chorus of complaints.

       "You do know what 'jinx' means, don't you?"

       "Now we have to practise even more!"

       "Come on, woman."

       "Okay! Fine! You win!" the bushy-haired girl replied, raising her hands in surrender and perching on the arm of the couch by Ron's feet. "We can call it a night and rest on our laurels tomorrow."

       "What the hell is a laurel?" asked the redhead.

       "Oh, Ron," was the only reply Hermione could grit out through a sigh. Harry's gaze found Gaia's as they held back their laughter at the sheer old-married-couple-ness of their two friends. "Well, I'm going to bed now. I'll see you three at breakfast."

       She stood from her spot and made for the stairs, but Ron promptly shot off the couch and made to follow after her. "Hermione, wait!" he called. "Tell me what a laurel is!"

       "Do you think he remembers that the girl's dorm stairs turn into a slide when a boy tries to walk up?" Gaia asked Harry with a scrunch in her brow. In answer, an echoing scream and a resounding thud were heard from the stairs. Gaia and Harry both turned to where Ron was picking himself up off the landing.