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Chapter Text

A.N.: Hello! For the first time, I'm writing an Indy!Harry series. This story contains Weasley and Dumbledore Bashing, which is not everyone's cup of tea. If you're looking for a different take on these characters, you won't find it in this story's universe. It's an alternate universe and will diverge from canon. I hope you have as much fun reading this prologue as I had writing it!

No dragons were harmed in the making of this story.

The sky over the Quidditch Pitch was grey and heavy with clouds, but Ron Weasley was laughing like it was the best day of his life.

The redhead had scored a great seat, front row, no less, thanks to his brother Percy. He had been waiting for this day for weeks!

The ginger boy chewed loudly on greasy, caramel popcorn, sipping ice-cold pumpkin juice, eyes glued to the task.

He had already eaten a good handful of that sweet, crunchy treat, and each bite seemed to match the agony of a champion.

The first to enter was Cedric Diggory, and the result was hilarious. The Hufflepuff champion looked around dazed and confused, utterly unprepared for what stood before him.

Ron laughed, because he already knew about the scaly, deadly beasts thanks to his brother Charlie. The champions didn't. A satisfaction sweeter than any treat he'd ever had.

The Gryffindor had nearly spilled his juice on the unfortunate soul next to him when Cedric was flung into a boulder while trying to grab the golden egg and blacked out momentarily.

"Is he…Is he breathing?" someone whispered.

Cedric had barely survived, and Ron was sure that badger wouldn't be showing his face in public anytime soon, not with a burned cloak and pants nearly shredded to pieces.

Next up was Fleur Delacour, the dazzling French veela. She was a majestic girl, but Ron hated the fact that she didn't even notice him and always kept to herself, in her own little world.

The wizard was sure this beating would knock her down a peg.

That witch looked more prepared than Cedric and transformed into a winged version of herself, almost like one of the harpies his brother Bill had told him about.

She didn't hesitate, charging straight at the dragon in an attempt to fight it. Every burst, every growl, every flame was music to Ron's ears.

He burst out laughing when Fleur, despite her fierceness and determination, was nearly smashed against the rocks by a tail swipe.

"Did you see that?" he snickered, elbowing the juice-soaked neighbor beside him. "Guess even pretty faces burn!"

"She's done for!" another shouted.

However she got back up, bloodied but still standing.

The French champion's performance was far better than Cedric's, though she too left with wounds across her goddess-like body.

Then came Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian champion. Ron couldn't deny he had once been a huge fan but alas, Viktor was just another arrogant show-off who deserved to be humiliated.

The Durmstrang students were on their feet, chanting his name at first but the cheers quickly died when the dragon nearly bit off his leg.

Ron shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth, caramel oozing down his fingers as he laughed with his mouth full. His eyes were glued to the fight below, where Viktor had just narrowly avoided a lethal swipe from his dragon.

"Now this is entertainment!" he exclaimed, spitting crumbs on his poor neighbor, who was holding back curses with Herculean effort.

"Thought he was some kind of prodigy?" someone scoffed from the Ravenclaw section.

Behind Ron, several students, mostly Hufflepuffs, laughed along with him. You didn't get to see 'great champions' nearly turned to ash every day.

They laughed, but none with the same cruel enthusiasm as Ron. He wasn't just there to enjoy the show. No, he was waiting for one moment.

That moment.

"Harry Potter!"

The Traitor. The Hero. The Boy-Who-Did-Nothing-But-Show-Off. No one was cheering for Harry, they wanted blood. And he was first on the list.

After all, it was the fair punishment for someone who cheated his way into the tournament.

Harry's assigned dragon, a Hungarian Horntail, was the fiercest of them all. His brother Charlie had told him no one could handle that beast. Ron licked his greasy fingers, ready for the spectacle.

He had waited with cruel patience. After years living in Potter's shadow, the time had finally come to watch him fall.

No one would save him this time.

And yet, when Harry walked out of the tent, he didn't look nervous or afraid. He walked with confidence, eyes unwavering even in the face of that terrifying creature.

Harry had only a wand and that damn, insufferable look of determination.

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Someone whispered that he didn't seem scared at all. Ron growled, lips curling. "Smug little git," he said. "Let's see how long that lasts."

The dragon and the young wizard didn't move, they studied each other.

Ron leaned forward, barely breathing. "Come on, Potter," he muttered. "Make me laugh!"

The dragon roared, rose on its hind legs, and unleashed a burst of fire straight at the boy. Ron laughed…and then stopped.

The fire engulfed the final champion completely…nothing.

Harry was still standing. Untouched. The flames hadn't harmed him at all and the real show began.

Harry moved his wand with a flurry of rapid, precise, deadly motions. Ron didn't recognize half the spells being cast. The dragon had no time to breathe, spells striking it from every angle.

Harry didn't stop, didn't flinch, never hesitated.

The dragon collapsed with a guttural roar, wings folded, eyes half-closed.

Silence.

The silence was broken only by the sound of Harry calmly walking toward the golden egg.

And only then did the crowd realize the 'cheater' wasn't dead and he had won.

Ron was frozen. The popcorn bag had fallen into his lap, the rest of his pumpkin juice with it. His hands were cold.

"Did you see that?" the boy next to him said, giving Ron a sharp elbow. For once, Ron had nothing to say.

Harry was walking back toward the tent, and Ron felt worse than ever.

No.

No.

NO!

A girl was waiting for him at the entrance. Short, but with a proud, elegant posture; long, wavy red hair like blood spilled in battle. Sharp, thoughtful eyes.

Ron went pale.

If that girl was with Harry…if she had helped him…

For the entire Weasley family was over.

From the judge's stand, Dumbledore observed with hands clasped and a watchful gaze. His lips hid an enigmatic smile no one would ever interpret as malicious satisfaction and yet, it was.

It was time for Harry to fail.

"A public humiliation…nothing fatal, of course, but something to remind him who he is, who he must be," thought the old headmaster darkly.

"Sacrifice, submission, obedience. All qualities Harry has yet to learn. Defeat will make him more compliant, more willing to do what must be done. Today, he will understand."

As the other champions failed, stumbled or, in Cedric Diggory's case, screamed in terror, Dumbledore nodded slightly, as if everything were going according to script.

Beside him, Karkaroff and Madame Maxime whispered annoyed comments about their champions' results, but he barely listened.

His icy blue eyes were fixed on the arena's entrance.

When Harry walked in, Dumbledore took a long sip of pumpkin juice offered by a visibly worried Barty Crouch Senior, and prepared to witness the fall of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry was supposed to be brought to his knees. That was the point of this trial. None of the students had been truly prepared—but Harry? He least of all.

He had left him alone, isolated. He had to fail. And once he did, he would seek help. He would find comfort in the safe, wise guidance of his 'mentor.'

The dragon's fire blazed.

Dumbledore leaned forward, intrigued.

And then…something went wrong.

The fire hadn't touched the boy at all.

Harry wasn't faltering, he was in full control.

Dumbledore's smile vanished.

The boy showed no fear. The spells he cast were not those of a fourth-year student but of a seasoned wizard. They were precise, deadly strikes.

No one understood, but Dumbledore did: Harry was targeting the dragon's tendons, forcing the beast to collapse on itself, unable to rise again.

The dragon stood no chance. And the crowd, who should have booed, ridiculed, humiliated him, was now silent, subdued by something that resembled respect…or perhaps, dread.

Then he saw her.

Standing by the champions' tent, waiting for the victor. Her long, wavy scarlet hair like ocean waves. A confident look no girl her age should have.

"No..." Dumbledore whispered.

Cassandra Prewett.

Molly was the exception in that dangerous bloodline, proud, impossible to tame. Dumbledore had thought he'd neutralized them, reduced them to a harmless, forgotten branch.

But now, Harry was laughing with her.

And in that moment, Dumbledore realized that for the first time in years, he was no longer in control.

Chapter Text

Night had fallen over Hogwarts like a heavy cloak, and in a forgotten corner of the intricate castle, a hidden room burned with the flickering light of an old fireplace.

A room that two curious twins had discovered long ago thanks to the help of their mysterious idols, the 'Marauders'. It was one of the many forgotten hideouts of their heroes, and now it no longer served to talk about some adolescent prank.

Scattered among rickety furniture, a few members of the Weasley family had gathered. The silence was heavy, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

Ron sat on a moldy armchair, fists clenched on his knees. Fred and George stood by the fireplace, Ginny leaned against a cracked pillar, Percy was stiff as a statue near a broken bookshelf, and Charlie, the only one who seemed comfortable, surveyed the room with a look of disgust.

"Nice hideout, really," Charlie commented sarcastically, blowing dust off an old portrait of a knight, the canvas seemingly shredded by the claws of some beast. "Perfect for your useless loser chats."

"This isn't the time to be a smartass, Charlie," Ron snapped, his eyes red not just from irritation. "We need to talk. And you're the last one who should be joking."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Oh, look at that, little Ronnikins is angry. Don't take it out on me just because your 'best friend' pulled off another heroic stunt this morning."

Ron sprang up, furious. He jabbed a finger into Charlie's chest.

"YOU were the one who told us the Hungarian Horntail would destroy him! You swore he'd be humiliated in front of all of Hogwarts!"

Fred nodded, frowning. "Our dumb little brother's right. You said no one would ever walk out of that task alive, let alone win it."

"Literally your words," added George. "'No one has ever beaten a Horntail alone.' Ring a bell?"

A shadow crossed Charlie's face. A brief flicker of hesitation, unnoticed by the others. "I stand by it. No normal person could. Clearly, Potter doesn't play by the rules."

"Clearly, it's the same old Potter luck." Ron moved away from his brother, disappointed, and slumped back into the armchair.

Ginny, who had been silent until then, turned away from a magical clock shaped like a wolf's mouth, which howled at regular intervals.

"Luck? You call that luck?! That dragon won't be walking for a week!" she burst out, incredulous.

"Yeah, luck. Harry was only good in DADA last year because he was the professor's pet." Ron shot back. "His whole reputation is based on luck, he's all bark and no bite. Just…as the MACUSA guys would say, an 'Average Joe.'"

Ginny didn't answer. Her gaze returned to the annoying clock. After all, even staring at that stupid contraption was more interesting than talking to her brother.

"So, how did your little chat with the 'Average Joe' go?" Charlie teased, arms crossed. "Wasn't he supposed to beg you for forgiveness on his knees?"

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "I was going to talk to him at the party Fred and George threw."

Charlie raised an eyebrow and looked at the twins. "And I suppose that party was a huge success too, wasn't it?"

Fred cleared his throat. George scratched his neck. No one spoke for a few seconds.

"Well… uh…"

The common room was a storm of excited screams, popped bottles, and playful magical sparks. Students of all years had gathered to welcome back the champion of their brave house. A boy with green eyes, full of fame and expectation, was about to enter.

Banners with Harry's face and the dragon's slithered across the ceiling, while the tables overflowed with stolen sweets from the kitchen and Butterbeer by the gallon.

All of Gryffindor was there, ready to cheer for him, as always!

"He's coming!" yelled a second-year by the door.

And the room exploded.

Harry stepped through the threshold with slow steps, the golden egg tucked under his arm. Next to him, a small, silent girl whose presence could silence anyone with just a look. Her scarlet hair stood out amid the chaos as she followed him like a quiet shadow.

Harry didn't speak to her, but the distance between them was thick with unspoken things.

"WELCOME BACK, HERO!" many shouted in unison.

Popped bottles, cheers, confetti. A Butterbeer soared through the air toward him. But Harry…stopped.

He didn't smile. He didn't even seem to look at the people shouting around him.

The young witch stepped closer, rose on her tiptoes, and whispered something in his ear. No one heard the words, but he nodded.

In the chaos, no one noticed that it was the only moment when Harry closed his eyes, as if savoring a rare instant of peace.

"I don't have time for this," he said coldly, his voice leaving no room for argument, turning toward the exit.

One hand was clenched behind his back, knuckles white. The girl noticed. Without a word, she brushed his fingers with the back of her hand.

"Keep celebrating without me," he let fall behind him, without a glance.

The room fell silent. No one dared say anything.

The faces that remained were full of confusion and disappointment. A hero who wouldn't let himself be adored. Ron stood frozen, mouth half open. Ginny, unlike her brothers, wasn't surprised at all.

No one dared follow him.

Ginny shook her head. "I knew we'd gone too far. We should've stood by him, not—"

"Oh, give it a rest!" Ron interrupted angrily. "Harry's always playing the victim! Every year he finds a way to turn everyone against him!"

"True." Fred nodded. "Remember first year? He lost all those points for Gryffindor and then sulked when no one talked to him!"

"Or second year, talking Parseltongue like a lunatic," added George.

"Or third year… when he got wrecked at Quidditch by Cedric. Ah, good times!" Fred pretended to wipe a nostalgic tear.

Then he turned serious.

"We should talk to Dumbledore. Pull out of the plan before this 'Average Joe' tears us apart like that big lizard."

The others looked at him, shocked. George especially.

"You're joking, right?! We can't back out NOW! With all those galleons, we could open a hundred joke shops and-!"

"We could, if we're still alive," Fred replied grimly. "I've got a strong feeling Harry figured something out. And you all know whose fault that is…"

Another silence.

Ginny broke it.

"Cassandra."

Charlie clenched his jaw. "That damn little brat, those bloody Prewetts. It's their fault, definitely." The family dragon expert held back a growl of frustration. "They were never supposed to meet at Hogwarts, let alone get close."

"How did she do it?" Ron crossed his arms. "Dumbledore said no one would ever put the pieces together."

The eldest brother shook his head. "I don't know how, or when those two got close, but if he really suspects something…we're screwed."

A cold chuckle sliced through the air. They all turned.

It was Percy, who until then had stood silently, impassive.

"What's so funny, Percy?!" Charlie snapped.

Percy adjusted his tie with a slow, theatrical motion.

"You see…I've got everything under control."

His siblings stared at him, confused.

"Thanks to the glowing recommendation of our esteemed Headmaster, I work side-by-side with one of the most powerful men in the Ministry: Barty Crouch Sr."

"Work? You mean you're his bootlicker," muttered Ginny, sarcastic.

Percy ignored the jab.

"For now, yes. But the path is clear: first assistant, then Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation…and finally, Minister for Magic. When that day comes, the Potters and Prewetts will be nothing but faded names in history books."

"You talk like victory is guaranteed. But if Harry really found something out, you might lose everything, even your precious career," Fred warned him.

Percy shrugged calmly.

"Relax. He won't talk."

"What do you mean?" George asked, low and visibly afraid.

"Barty's original idea for the Second Task was far too…easy. But I convinced him to raise the stakes."

Ron gulped. "What do you mean?"

Percy smiled. A sharp smile.

"Let's just say our 'dear' Harry thinks he's safe. But his own ego will be what sends him crashing from the top of this tournament into an abyss he'll never crawl out of."

He burst into laughter. A slow, cold, wicked laugh.

Everyone looked at each other. No one laughed with him.

For the first time, even the Weasley twins felt a chill down their spine.

A.N.: New chapter!

I'm really enjoying the narrative universe of this story especially, in the case of this chapter, writing the Weasley siblings bickering with each other, even though they have to 'collaborate' for a common goal.

The 'Average Joe' line is a deliberate jab at how nerfed Harry was in canon. For example, in the third book it's explicitly stated that "Not many adult wizards can cast one (a Patronus), much less a fully corporeal one!" and Harry is shown to be quite powerful because he manages to cast one in his third year with actual Dementors present.

Sadly, Rowling later watered him down, allowing almost all of the DA to learn and cast it (and even some weak members of the Order), and by turning Harry into a wizard obsessed with using only 'Expelliarmus'. Again, she really dismantles him pretty badly in the later books overall.

I wanted to give him justice by staying true to and respecting the Harry's potential.

Hope you enjoyed reading, see you next time!

Chapter Text

The morning after the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, the Great Hall was buzzing with voices, laughter, sharp remarks, excited chatter, and barely whispered comments. The euphoria from the previous day's event lingered everywhere; at every table, mouths moved more than forks.

At the Durmstrang table, the conversation was more of a show than an actual discussion. The students were yelling in a mixture of Russian and Bulgarian, while Viktor Krum laughed unashamedly about his performance, slowly munching on a piece of bread like nothing had happened.

Viktor responded with equal gusto, shrugged off the more heated remarks with the ease of a warrior adjusting his armor, an armor made of confidence and defiance.

On the opposite side of the hall, however, the atmosphere was much colder. The Beauxbatons girls, who looked like they had stepped out of a castle painting, were throwing venomous comments at Fleur. Their champion had taken second place, had wounded her dragon, and yet was being quietly accused of not being bold enough.

Fleur, sitting alone on the edge of the bench, impeccable as always, paid them no mind, ignoring the poisonous and pointless barbs with a regal indifference.

The Hufflepuff table was a theater of pity. Cedric Diggory was being pampered, comforted with exaggerated words and gestures.
"If only I had known about the dragon…I would've taken it down in a blink!" he complained dramatically, while his friends encouraged him fondly.

Only a few still wore the mocking badge against the other Hogwarts champion; most had decided to hide it out of fear.

The staff table was no exception. Even Severus Snape, usually silent in the mornings, had entered into a verbal spat with Filius Flitwick, who, with his usual teasing tone, seemed to be enjoying the win from a personal bet.
"Told you you should've bet on the 'arrogant four-eyed one' for first place, not second!" the half-goblin professor mocked the grumpy and stern Potions Master.

Dumbledore, as always, remained the eye of the storm, hands folded calmly in front of him, though his eyes were not entirely detached.

The great doors opened, and for a moment, everything stopped.

Harry Potter walked in with his back straight. Following beside him, like a loyal shadow, was Cassandra, her usual aristocratic, graceful demeanor intact.

Harry moved forward, cold and impassive, offering no reaction to the mixture of terror, respect, and blatant disgust in the eyes that followed him.

Dumbledore himself lifted his gaze, as if sensing something out of place.

Fleur, for the first time since sitting down, looked at someone with a hint of curiosity.

Cedric stared at him with a mix of hatred and frustration.

Viktor watched him the way one sizes up an opponent.

The murmuring resumed the moment the two of them sat down at a distant end of the Gryffindor table. The world once again began chattering its opinions.

From their house table, a few Gryffindors cast furtive glances and whispered amongst themselves. Harry pretended not to notice. Cassandra, on the other hand, didn't miss a thing.

"They're probably still talking about your reaction to their little 'party' yesterday," she remarked, as though reading his mind.

Harry shrugged. "They're friendly only when it benefits them."

"Or when they're afraid," Cassandra added, her tone calm but razor-sharp.

"Lions devour the weakest member of the pride. If that member turns out to be the strongest, they immediately seek its favor." Her voice carried a touch of melancholy. After all, she too had been born and raised under the scarlet banner and knew all too well how rotten their pride could be.

Harry didn't answer. Disgust flickered across his face, barely perceptible.

Cassandra silently passed him a plate with a treacle tart. He took a piece, closed his eyes, and savored the treat, one he considered a true luxury.

"My Lord, I don't understand how a wizard such as yourself can endure that explosion of sugar," she said in an overly aristocratic tone.

Harry smiled. A genuine small smile, and only she would have noticed it.

Then, a flutter of wings: the mail had arrived.

A small owl dropped off an envelope and a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of Cassandra. She opened the letter first, silently, and read it in seconds.

"My mother congratulates you on your victory," she said, then handed him the paper.

Harry took the newspaper and flipped through it with the same coldness he had shown when facing the dragon the morning before. On the front page, a photo showed him from behind, standing with the defeated dragon in the background.

THE BOY WHO DEFEATS DRAGONS!

Harry Potter triumphs in the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. The others? Better left forgotten!
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

The sky that autumn day was cloudy and dark, a foreshadowing of tragedy, until Harry Potter, the youngest of the champions, quite literally set the arena ablaze!

With skills worthy of Merlin himself, Potter faced the ferocious Hungarian Horntail, one of the most dangerous known dragons, and not only managed to seize the golden egg but defeated the beast with such speed and daring that left the judges speechless. Banners bearing his name already wave from many Hogwarts windows!

"Never seen anything like it from a fourteen-year-old!" commented judge Ludovic 'Ludo' Bagman.

"Mr. Potter left me and my family stunned. A far too unexpected surprise," added one of the Tournament organizer Percy Weasley.

Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons, who took second place, managed to injure her dragon, revealing the fierce side of a Veela. A magical burn on her arm and additional wounds suggest the young witch may have overestimated her abilities. After all, beauty is no match for a fire-breathing creature.

Now for the other two champions.

Viktor Krum, the famous Bulgarian Seeker, seemed more focused on causing chaos than on winning. His approach was direct, yes but also crude and ineffective. He obtained the egg and third place, but the dragon didn't seem remotely fazed. A sports champion, surely. A magical one? Still debatable.

And then there's Cedric Diggory, the 'jewel of Hogwarts,' the favorite of the faculty…who finished in a humiliating last place. A real stain on the honor of the noble Diggory family, known for their skill and integrity. Evidently, not for their dragon-slaying prowess!

The crowd has spoken. The applause, the cheers, the emotional tears…all for him: Harry Potter. The true hero. The real champion.

But the real question that haunts this journalist's heart is this:

Is Harry Potter a prodigy of the Light…or a dark reflection of the Dark Lord himself?

How can a boy of just fourteen possess such power and reflexes to overpower an ancient, brutal creature like a dragon?

His power grows before our very eyes. Intelligence, composure, courage… and even a necessary touch of ruthlessness. All traits once displayed by someone who must NEVER be named.

Could this be the dawn of a new hero or the rise of someone darker, more dangerous?

Only time will tell.

Meanwhile, Hogwarts can only bow to its true champion.
Harry Potter: the boy who lived…and now conquers! Including, it seems, the heart of a certain red-haired witch who follows him wherever he goes.
Expect great things from him.
Better yet, prepare to be amazed.

Harry looked up toward the staff table. Dumbledore was reading the same page.

"A victory for the Headmaster, no matter what," Cassandra commented, without emphasis.

"If you had lost," she explained, "you would've been mocked by the entire magical world. You'd have needed support, advice, and he would've offered it, in exchange for your complete submission and obedience. But you won, and now he gets the honor of hosting your legend under Hogwarts' roof. It's simple politics. In every scenario, the Headmaster wins...for now."

"May I keep it?" Harry asked after a brief silence.

"Of course, my Lord," she replied with a half-curtsy and a smile.

He slipped the Prophet into his bag with mechanical precision, and together they headed for the exit.

A figure stepped in front of them, clearly waiting. Disheveled hair. Sharp voice. A girl Harry remembered all too well…Hermione Granger.

"Harry. We need to talk." Anxiety and anger stormed across her face, fists clenched tightly.

Harry looked at her, coldly. Cassandra stood behind him, unmoving.

"Alone," Hermione added, her glare sharpening as it met Cassandra's.

"No, we don't. And certainly not alone," Harry replied, his voice cold and clear. Hermione was caught off guard by the iciness.

"And if you really wanted to talk to me, you could've done it before the First Task," he added sharply.

Hermione stiffened, the air around her vibrating with resentment. Her fists clenched until her knuckles turned white.

"Harry, Ron told me everything. That girl's not a normal second-year student! She's evil, just like her family!" She pointed at Cassandra like one points at a threat. "She's a Prewett! There's a reason they're nearly extinct! Ron says she's manipulating you!"

Cassandra tilted her head slightly. No anger. Just well-mannered contempt.

"Funny that Ron would talk about manipulation," Harry said sarcastically. "He's an expert, after all."

"Don't be like this!" Hermione protested. "You're not the same! Even the dragon…to leave it like that, it couldn't have been your idea!"

Harry stepped forward. He was close. Too close. He backed her against the wall without even touching her. Their faces were just inches apart.

Hermione froze as he spoke.

"You're right. It wasn't my idea."

Hermione exhaled, hopeful.

"My idea was to kill it."

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Cassandra convinced me to spare it. Killing it would've been...counterproductive."

Hermione was in shock. Her voice trembled as she tried to protest.

"No, that's not possible…Y-you…you're not like this."

But the fear in her eyes betrayed her.

Harry gave Cassandra a slight nod and walked off with her. Hermione remained behind, fists clenched, lips trembling...

A.N.:New chapter, a bit longer than the previous ones. The castle is starting to react to Harry's change, will they all manage to keep up with him?
Will Rita keep dropping her exclusive scoops on our beloved champion?
Will Cassandra finally eat a treacle tart? All this and more, in the next chapters!

A note for Hermione fans: In this story, she won't play a major or supportive role for Harry. If you're looking for that, I've written other works where Harry/Hermione is the main pairing or where she has a more significant and positive role.