A/N: I just had to thank you readers who dashed (ha, SWIDT?) off to look up the Morse Code to decipher Hermione's message on the pendants. :) You're fabulous. And sorry this is a bit late this morning - I overslept!
Chapter Thirty-Five: Dueling
Hogwarts, 18 April 1995
"The Third and Final Task of the Triwizard Tournament will be on the third of June," Dumbledore announced over dinner after the spring holiday. Hermione pulled out her quill and ink and marked the date down on her ever-updating planner.
Viktor and the rest of the students from his school had long grown used to her color-coded schedules. Since the twins' birthday—which had been highlighted in bright red ink on her planner—Hermione had devoted herself to revising for her O.W.L.s and seeking different ways to make magic portable. George and Fred were working on new products for making people laugh, which was laudable and they were good at it. She wanted to contribute her bit, too, as she'd been invested in the concept since at least her second year.
"Did you hear?" Viktor said near her ear.
"Hm?" She was checking to see if she'd need to alter her schedule to accommodate the Third Task.
"The Third Task vill be an obstacle course. It vill take place on your Qvidditch Pitch."
She nodded, remembering.
Dumbledore and a couple ministry officials had called her and the twins to his office, as well as Professor Snape. "Thanks to what we were able to learn—due to your exemplary powers of observation, Miss Granger, and your skills with charms, Messrs. Weasley—we have decided to change the date and time of the final task to prevent grievous events from taking place."
"Still, there might be concerns, so I will be asking you to make yourselves available for that task since you are already aware of, er, circumstances and we won't put anyone new in danger."
Fred and George had stood up and moved to flank her, though even they hadn't dared draw their wands in Dumbledore's presence. "Danger? She'll be in danger?"
"I can defend myself, you know," she'd reminded them calmly.
They had sent her communicative looks before settling back to their seats. "What do we need to do?"
"I'm glad they've got that settled. And if it's on the pitch, it will at least be more easily viewable than the Second Task."
The students who could hear her nodded, and she was about to return to her scheduling when Dumbledore actually surprised her.
"In addition," the Headmaster said, effectively cutting off the myriad conversations that had arisen in the wake of his announcement, "we will be having a dueling competition." He cast a glance over each table in the Hall. "I realize that many of you are revising for your exams, so we will make the competition itself very brief. One day, in fact. On St. George's Day."
Hermione swore under her breath. "But that's this Sunday!"
"As it is this Sunday," the Headmaster went on to say, "your Heads of House or Headmasters will be meeting with you this evening to explain the rules and timetables. All you need to know right now is that it will be open to everyone save the Champions. All further questions should be directed to your Heads. Have a good rest of your day."
Her ears were getting quite warm, so she focused her attention across the Hall to the Gryffindor table. Her boyfriends were there, their eyes wide with questions. She wondered what they were. And she knew that, as she thought of them, their pendants would grow warm as well, so they'd know she was reciprocating their regard.
She loved magic.
After breakfast, everyone scattered to go to classes and she was gathering up her writing materials when George and Fred flanked her, sort of surrounding her as they pressed her against the table. Startled, she looked about to see that the maroon and beige of the Durmstrang spring uniform had melted away from her end of the table, so it was just her and her boyfriends.
And their eyes, Merlin. Their eyes were glowing. But they weren't smiling. If they'd been Muggles, she might have thought there were having some sort of religious experience.
"Are you two all right?" she wondered, her voice low and soft. How did one speak to a young man experiencing . . . whatever it was? Did it have to do with the upcoming dueling contest?
Fred shook his head, not taking his focus from her face as he slid his fingers up her throat. Then, just under and behind her right ear, she felt it.
Dot-line-dot-dot. Line-line-line. Dot-dot-dot-line. Dot.
And she felt it again, on the inside of her opposite wrist, where George had lightly encircled her. Dot-line-dot-dot. Line-line-line. Dot-dot-dot-line. Dot.
It took her a full minute to interpret, and when she did, she felt—so much. But they were in the Great Hall, and there was an ebbing and flowing of students around them, so discussing feelings was not an option. Instead, she pressed her forehead into first one firmly muscled chest, then the other, trying to find her voice. Her real voice, not the flat one she had learned to call upon in moments of stress.
"So, I gather you found a book on Morse Code?"
"'Mione," George murmured into the palm of her hand. "You're the bravest girl in England."
She opened her mouth to question that, but Fred kissed the corner of her lips to hush her. "Beautiful, too."
"Brilliant, entirely."
They each tangled a hand in her hair, and she tried to figure them out by studying their eyes, as she had so often over the years. They were shining. Emotion-filled and even—watery?
Were there tears, there?
"So it's no wonder, you see—"
"That we love you," they said together, smiles gone, expressions sincere and serious.
"Absolutely," Fred tagged on.
George followed that with a smiling, "Entirely," before he said, "I know, our timing is the worst ever."
"But we couldn't wait until tonight. We figured it out this morning."
"We'd asked Bill for a book, you see, and—"
It was as if a wave was cresting in her body, rolling in from the sea of her life to reach its white, frothy expectation right there that Tuesday morning. She laughed lightly, because she was so happy. "You're the best. And I love you both. Absolutely and entirely." She placed a palm over the center of each boy's chest, feeling the faint outline of her gift to them under layers of school robes, ties, and shirts. "Just remember who said it first."
Fred moved back a bit, tugging on her hand. "Well, actually, we did."
She gasped in protest. George took her school bag and slung it over his shoulder. "You know, with actual words instead of dots."
"You're impossible, the pair of you."
"You like us impossible!"
"I love you impossible."
Fred grinned down at her, his joy a palpable thing. Without warning, he scooped her up and twirled her around, right there in front of the passing students and lingering professors and even Filch. "You do, don't you," he said in a fierce, possessive whisper.
He put her down and George engulfed her in a quick, comprehensive embrace that was brief enough to avoid even a disapproving cough from McGonagall. "Yeah, I really do."
23 April 1995
The day was glorious. It was the kind of day, by and large, that travel agents would choose to take promotional pictures for their companies. Come to Scotland and see the Ancient Sights!
Hermione had to smile about it. Hogwarts Castle, after all, was not actually seen by Muggles so any postcard would show an old ruin, not the majestic establishment she lived in for much of her growing up years. As if rising from the green grass and rich earth, the castle's stones were ancient, yet the building was in good repair. She could see the wards about it as she concentrated. Runes hung in the air with invisible power. Towers thrust into the nearly cloudless sky in triumph and strength.
And the fields were peppered with healthy, vibrant young people with just enough mature faces to keep it real.
But any notional travel agents would have to leave, because all those people were armed with magic wands and many of them were preparing to duel with them.
"Miss Granger."
She shielded her eyes against the sun when she looked up at Professor Snape. "Yes, sir?"
"Are you quite ready? This promises to be a rather long day." His tone was dismissive, but his eyes were sharp and concerned for her. She had learned long ago that his position as Head of House had something to do with his treatment of the different blood-castes and families of the Wizarding World. He wasn't allowed to show favoritism to a Muggle-born, but since she was in his House, he could treat her with polite neutrality in front of others. Which he did.
All while assisting her in independent study classes, advanced Defense spellwork, permission for her to take exams early, and turning aside when she hexed someone in her own defense. He gave her subtle hints on deportment and the Slytherin mindset that had helped her immeasurably over the years. So, she ignored his voice and answered the intent in his eyes.
"I am, sir. As you know, the only challenger I have aside from Selwyn is your godson."
"His parents are here, you know." A nod of her professor's dark head indicated a trio of platinum blonds off to the right. "Draco has been rather vocal about his dislike of you."
"Dislike is such a polite term," she remarked.
"Indeed. So you'll duel Draco before Selwyn. Our house only has the three duelists, thanks to you." He almost sneered that last.
She withheld her smile. "I did hear something to that effect after our House meeting."
"Your swains in Gryffindor have been run ragged all morning; taking bets, apparently."
She allowed a small smile to slip out. "Well, they do have plans. How many duels will be happening there this morning, do you know?"
"Twenty-five, if you can believe that."
She sighed and shook her head. "Well, they are a reckless House."
"Indeed." He cast a Tempus charm and stared at it for a few moments. "Your first duel is in fifteen minutes, there," he said with a nod in the direction of a square marked in silver and green. "Be advised that there will be wards cast." He slanted an amused glance at her. "I do not advise bringing your Patronus into play."
"Nor will I. Your godson is planning on dueling by himself, is he not? No minions, this morning?"
Her Head of House let out a very small sigh. "Not this morning. His parents, remember."
"Indeed."
As Professor Snape strode away to greet his friends, she could have sworn she heard him chuckle.
Fred was torn, and that was a shame. In front of him, McLaggen was facing off against Angelina. That was just plain stupid, because Angelina was going to turn McLaggen's arse into fertilizer.
Still, whilst this was happening, Fred had a great big cool spot on his chest, which meant his girlfriend hadn't thought about him in a while. She was preparing for her duel. He was sincerely concerned for her, because though Malfoy was a little tosser, he was a pure-blood tosser in a House where that was serious as anything. If Hermione took him down in an untoward manner, there could be repercussions.
"It's starting," George murmured.
"Is she all right?"
"No, our duel? Angelina and McDraggarse?" George looked distracted as well, but he was doing his bit and sticking it out with their House.
Still, in a nod to the Quidditch World Cup the prior summer, George had suggested they paint their colors on their cheeks. One cheek for Gryffindor, the other for Slytherin, with a great big HJG in the middle of the green and silver.
No one else proclaimed anything like a dual loyalty, but many of the younger years had immediately adopted the face paint. Fred was proud of them, but he still wanted to watch their witch duel. "How about one of us go now and one for the next one." That Hermione would have a second duel was a given, of course.
George nodded. "Go on, then. You look desperate, Gred." George clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll watch the next one."
"Angie! Angie! Angie!" Their Quidditch Captain—well, she would be, when they had a team again—stood triumphantly over the stunned form of Cormac McLaggen.
"Huzzah!" George and Fred called. Then, George pushed Fred off in the direction of the Slytherin dueling square. "Go on, then. Let her know we're both with her, yeah?"
"Thanks, Georgie!"
Fred wasn't even remotely cool about it; he dashed over the grassy expanse, past the line of Hufflepuff duelists who had decided to go all at once, apparently. Then, he was past the warded Ravenclaw square, where the geniuses weren't dueling at all, but engaged in another heated debate over something. The French students of Beauxbatons were in a circle, counting off, he thought. The Durmstrangers were having four people dueling at the moment, whilst others seemed to be waiting their turns.
At the final warded area, Hermione was facing off against Malfoy. There was no cheering, there; just a silent line of snakes watching the two in the square. Justin Selwyn, the male seventh year Prefect of that House, was watching with his arms crossed. Fred didn't quite dare to approach him just in case Hermione would be accused of having had her boyfriends distract a future opponent.
So he watched, fascinated and enthralled as always to watch Hermione Granger kick somebody's arse. She wore her school uniform skirt and blouse, with the tie slightly loose about the collar. Her hair was plaited and fell over her left shoulder. The look in her eyes could not have been more disdainful if she had been Severus Snape.
Fred had missed the beginning of the duel, barely, but he was privileged enough to watch it end.
"Diffindo!" Malfoy shouted with a wicked twist of his wand.
That was usually a charm used to do delicate cutting on fabric, but Fred winced because he knew that it could cut a person, too. He himself had a scar on the back of one leg because of it. Hermione, though, was always shielded. He and George had even discussed it once, a year or so ago, because they had briefly wondered how to date the girl and even get a kiss if she was constantly surrounded by her own personal Protego.
While Malfoy set his jaw and looked to be growling, Hermione did a couple of nonverbal spells that they'd practiced in DADA that year. He remembered the first time he'd seen her act nonverbally and without her wand—she'd only been, what, eleven, maybe? Insane, that. So that she could basically set Malfoy shouting over a stinging hex before sending him up in a very simple Wingardium Leviosa—something the twins had done years before to her, which still made him smile to remember—and then disarm him without uttering a word wasn't even remotely surprising.
Not to Fred. Not to Selwyn, whom he saw nodding faintly off by himself. Not to Snape. And not to Lupin, who had decided to watch this duel over any of the others.
But Draco Malfoy's parents . . .
"Severus! What is that girl doing to my son?"
"Well, that last appeared to be a wandless Expelliarmus, Lucius," Professor Snape said in his laconic manner. "Duel to Miss Granger. Now let him down and give him back his wand, Miss Granger."
"Severus! That's impossible. Who is assisting—?"
Fred felt his muscles tighten in silent defense of his girlfriend and her amazing dueling skills. To his surprise and gratification, many in her House spoke up for her.
"Professor Snape, Granger's not cheating."
"I swear it, Professor Snape. I've seen her do that in DADA."
"She's been able to cast a Patronus all year!"
"She took Krum in their duel last week, too!"
Fred felt his chest swell in pride of his Hermione as so many spoke on her behalf. It was about bloody time, it was. Hermione, though, seemed to be in some distress; when the wards collapsed, he moved toward her immediately. "Hey, great job."
"Fred!" She leaned into him and pressed her face against his shoulder.
The pendant on his chest warmed instantly and she placed her hand over it as he took her briefly into his embrace. "Hey, where're Gideon and Fabian?" Her ears were bare.
She leaned back with a small smile, though her eyes were concerned and serious. "They're safely tucked away in the dorm. I even warded them. I didn't want to be distracted, you know?"
"Makes perfect sense," he said. And it did. "Because you know that the little blighters would've been very, very warm all day." He pulled her in for a so-chaste-Aunt-Muriel-would-approve kiss before turning to see how the post-duel controversy was resolved.
"She's a Mudblood!" Lucius Malfoy was saying, his voice a low, angry grind. Malfoy the Younger stood next to him, his hair still a mess from having been forcefully levitated, nodding like an idiot. "She can't possibly have disarmed my son—my son of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, mind—without so much as a word, Severus! Sanctimonia Vincet Semper!"
Purity Will Always Conquer. "What's that, his motto?" Fred whispered into Hermione's ear.
"They're the Words of House Malfoy," she murmured back, watching the blond family through narrowed eyes. "Malfoy has them practically carved behind his eyelids, I'm sure. It's all he can see or think."
"You know, that's really kind of sad." Fred wrapped his arm around her shoulder tightly and squeezed her into his side. He just felt like he needed to.
She sighed in a warm, comfortable way that made him feel taller and stronger than he really was. "It is, isn't it? I mean, I see . . . you. You and George. A lot. In my head. And you're ever so much more comforting than Latin."
He laughed, then, though he was deeply moved in a sharp, sudden way that surprised him. Wouldn't do to show it here, though, when the Malfoys were trying to malign his girlfriend. "Good to know, sweetheart. Good to know."
Snape made some sort of gesture with his wand before beckoning to Hermione. Fred went as well, of course, because he wasn't going to let her go into a hostile area without him.
As they did so, cheers rang out from the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang dueling squares, and there was a series of red and gold sparking explosions from the Gryffindor duelists.
"I'm actually not a boxer," Hermione quietly reminded her boyfriends as she prepared for her final duel. She had defeated Justin Selwyn, which he'd accepted with a smile and a side-on hug that had shocked her as much as it had annoyed George and Fred. Just now, the two of them were massaging her shoulders and her hands.
George, in front of her, was lovingly working the muscles and joints in her wand hand as well as the muscles of her forearms. "You're far too pretty to be a boxer," he said, "but I know it's exhausting."
Fred blew lightly across her ear so that she shivered a little under the warm spring sun. "There's a reason we're not doing it, you know."
"Dueling? I had wondered."
"As if we'd ever want to think about facing you again. We'd have to make a serious go of it, 'Mione," George told her before lightly kissing the inside of her wrist. "Don't think I could do that."
"Nor me," Fred said casually. He continued to rub her shoulders, which she appreciated even if she had to think about what they'd said.
"I'm nervous," she told them quietly. "Stasia Ivanova is my friend, but she is highly competitive. And then there's Davies in Hufflepuff. He might be a 'Puff, but he's very careful with his shields and such. And Chang won in Ravenclaw, and she hates me. Who won the mêlée in your House?"
Though they smiled at the word she gave it, the word mêlée was pretty accurate. Sure, after Angelina had triumphed over McLaggen, their contenders had grown impatient and fought in two nice little lines, but lions didn't fight pretty, that was for certain. "Towler," George told her. "You know, after the prank with his pyjamas that one time, he shaped up all right."
"Honestly, you two." She was trying very hard to settle herself. She had worked hard to become a competent duelist; she'd had to. Winning over Viktor the week before had been a huge, huge deal for her. Thankfully, he was a strong, generous man and didn't hold her victory against her. But she felt really uncomfortable. Stasia was a friend. A good friend. The kind of friend to invite her to her home in Russia to meet her parents who were a triad. Maybe she'd get lucky and not have to face Stasia at all?
George frowned and looked her in the eye. "Hey. What are you thinking? Your hands just went all cold."
"Just thinking of possible matches."
"Well, remember we love you," Fred said quietly. "Even if that Blanc fellow from Beauxbatons knocks you off your feet in the first ten seconds."
"Will the duelists from each house come to the front here, please," the Headmaster called, using a magically amplified voice.
"Go on. You'll be fine," George said, kissing her cheek.
Fred kissed her other one. "Just remember not to use your Patronus."
So, she was laughing a little as she approached the line of victors. She was never going to live that down, was she? Hermione Jean Granger, first duelist whose Patronus got stuck in the dueling ward.
Excellent. Well, so long as the term Mudblood wasn't in that appellation, she supposed it beat a kick in the teeth.
She smiled at Stasia in the final line-up. The older witch grinned at her, too. "So. I will tell you, Hermione, that I do not want to face you in a duel."
"Likewise, Stasia. It'd make me quite unhappy to wrap you up with bandaging as I did with Viktor months ago."
The two of them enjoyed the memory as the others joined them in the line. Then, Dumbledore continued to speak in his elevated tone. "Well, ladies and gentlemen. Congratulations. You are all Dueling Champions." He paused and there was an awkward silence before some students started to applaud. "You will all be awarded with a certificate and a new cloak or magical wand holster, as you choose. But the real reward will be your participation in the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament!"
Two nearly identical voices rose over the instant cacophony. "What the bloody hell?"
A/N: Oh. Was that a cliff? That I'm going to leave you hanging from until Monday? Why yes, yes it was . . .
The Morse Code the boys figured out spelled "Love". The pendants Hermione gave them basically communicated that she loved them, though in a different pattern of words for each of them. (I found such pendants, as herein described, on Etsy.) The House Words are mentioned on the Harry Potter Wikia (thank you, DomBoe!) but I saw them first in ShayaLonnie's story, The Debt of Time.