Song Suggestion: Emeline – "this is how I learn to say no"

MyPrivateInsanity is the absolute best for spending her time looking over this chapter!

Beautiful Distraction

Theo arrived three days later for dinner. He swooped inside, gave a nod to his brother, kissed Hermione's cheek, and sat beside her. He began to tear into his food as if starved.

"Merlin, no other elf cooks like Eddy."

Eddy was the kitchen elf. Unlike Bitty, he didn't like to be seen, so after cooking, he'd slink off into his quarters.

Theo paused his eating once he noticed the strained silence. He glanced back and forth between Titus and Hermione.

"What's going on?"

Titus only grimaced briefly. "I'll tell you if you promise you'll be mature about it."

Theo stiffened and looked at Hermione. She could barely look back at him.

"Titus is starting my Trials."

Theo's mouth popped open, and his eyes went wide. He shot out of his chair so abruptly that it tipped over, clattering on the floor.

"What?"

"Sit down, Theo," Titus said calmly, but his grave expression showed he struggled with it himself. Titus had dreaded telling Theo, knowing it wouldn't be received well. They already had a strained relationship, and this would put more pressure on it.

Hermione wasn't about to lessen the pressure, no matter how bad Titus wanted her to.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" he yelled. "You know she doesn't want to yet."

"There are many reasons for it, and I'm certain you'd wilfully misunderstand all of them."

Theo's face turned bright red from anger.

"Oh, I think I understand perfectly. I've understood for a while. I'm not blind. You included your fucking token, didn't you?" He didn't wait for Titus to confirm his suspicions. "It'll serve you right if Hermione stabs you in your sleep, and I might hand her the knife."

Titus blew out a hard breath.

"I'm doing what's best. I love—"

"Love?" Theo stepped away from the table and placed one hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I can't— I don't have any power to stop him." He grew quiet for a moment, as if processing everything, and then he kicked a table leg. "Fuck, Titus, this is one of the worst decisions you've ever made! I can't stand to be here any longer, or I might curse you. Why do you have to ruin fucking everything?"

She didn't want Theo to leave, but she understood. If she could, she'd leave too.

Theo kissed her on the cheek a second time, giving a comforting squeeze to her shoulder. "I'm going to see if I can do anything about this. If you need me, I'm always a floo call away." He sneered at his brother. "That is if he'd even let you floo call me."

It was a sweet sentiment, but Theo could do nothing to help her. She never thought he could.

Titus gave a derisive snort.

"Both of you are dramatic," Titus said. "Barely anything at all will change."

Theo glared and then stomped out of the room without responding. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Titus shoved his plate away, and then pinched the bridge of his nose. "He'll be back," he said, as if trying to convince himself of that. Then he glanced up at her. "I'd never prevent you from communicating with him. You can floo call him anytime you want to."

The anger inside her was so hot she wouldn't be surprised to find steam billowing from her ears.

"Floo call him anytime I want? Thanks ever so," Hermione bit out. "Should I crawl into your lap now in awe of your benevolence?"

His nostrils flared.

"That sounds pleasant to me." His glare could melt ice. "And then while you're at it, you could beg me please again, instead of acting like such a little brat."

They hadn't had a normal conversation since the day he'd initiated the Trials. He had tried, of course, but she'd rather chew glass than be nice to him. Her continuous animosity wore down his usual control.

Titus picked up his wine glass, but when he began to sip, she obeyed her angry impulse, squeezing her fist with intention.

The glass exploded, sending shards across the table, and wine splashed against his body. Despite being petty, it satisfied her to see him sputtering in shock.

He wiped away the red wine dripping from his chin. "Keep acting like a child, and I promise I'll punish you like one."

"Try and punish me and I'll charm spiders in your shoes— or maybe I'll use real ones."

"Do that and I'll put you in time out. My bed, perhaps? You'd need to stay in it for an hour before I'd let you out."

"I'd put a potion in your shampoo to make your hair fall out."

"Two hours."

Hermione picked up her steak knife and ran her finger along the sharp edge.

"Did you know that after mating, a female praying mantis will often bite off the male's head? I thought you'd be interested in that fact."

"You are a veritable fount of knowledge," he said in a flat voice. "But if your intention was to threaten me, then I must inform you that violence entices me."

Why did he have to say things in a way that made her body tingle? She had to shut it down. The stakes were too high.

"You'll regret it if you win my Trials. I'll intentionally make you miserable every day for the rest of your life."

He looked her over slowly, his gaze touching every curve of her face, as if savouring it.

"I enjoy your disobedience." He leaned forward. "Because it'll make it that much more satisfying when I teach you the benefits of submission."

She hated her traitorous body. How it burned with his promise. How it hijacked her mind for just a moment, causing her to wonder about the benefits. But her logical mind understood that the benefits of staying with Titus ended when she exited his bed.

The morning of her Trials, Hermione woke before dawn. She took a moment to stare at her room, her attention lingering on her photographs and treasures. Her old artwork. The gifts from Titus and Theo over the years. She picked up each item and set it down, wondering if it would be a goodbye for now, or a goodbye for forever. If Titus won two trials today, then by early in the morning— if it was similar to Katie's—he'd bring her back home.

She still didn't know much about the Trials. Just stolen bits and pieces. Four planned contests, though not all of them are guaranteed to play out. At least three competitors.

The ritual night.

The ominous feeling overwhelmed her again, remembering a black galleon warmed in her palm. She thought about trying to escape, but she doubted she'd get far. Titus would hunt her down, and then he might deny her what she wanted. And where would she even go? The panic rose up in her chest, but she shoved it down, determined to see her plan through.

Instead of her usual dress, she put on black trousers meant for duelling and a form-fitting top. She gathered her voluminous curly hair and braided it down her back to get it out of her face. Her dragon hide boots were last, fitting like a glove. As a final precaution, she strapped her wand to her forearm under the band of her shirt.

When she walked out of the room, she shoved down a quick breakfast without sitting and then went to the front sitting room where the floo resided. Titus already waited near the fireplace, dressed all in black like her. He wore his typical auror outfit with his armour sans cloak and mask.

He studied her as she walked forward. A smile tugged up the side of his lip, and she had to withhold the instinct to swipe it off.

Crookshanks was rubbing off on her.

"What are you planning, Sprite?"

She tried not to fidget under his inspection. She didn't know if he'd be angry with what she intended— or if it was even allowed— but she also didn't know if she cared anymore.

"I'm participating."

A snort broke his serious mien.

"Are you?"

"Yes. If you can't beat me, then you don't deserve me."

"Very well."

Having expected more of a fight, she glanced up at him in confusion. She'd prepared to argue her point, and if he'd refused her, she'd decided to somehow sabotage the Trials toward whatever contestant she desired. Him letting her participate without protest threw her off.

"Really?"

"It's tradition for the witch to participate if she wants. Most don't, but it helps witches with stronger wills to settle faster. I'm glad you've decided to compete before I even offered. It shows your fighting spirit."

Hermione grit her teeth. The assurance behind his tone grated on her nerves, as if she was a child playing at something meant for grown-ups. Adorable. Not an actual threat. Just a little whim to be indulged to keep hope in place, so that when it was finally cut away, there would be nothing left.

"What if I win?"

"You won't—"

"What. If. I. Win?"

He paused and looked her over.

"It's just a meaningless tradition. I doubt you even could officially win. Your friend Katie participated too. I suppose it's all right for me to mention this now. She nearly even outflew Flint—the closest any witch has gotten to winning. The Overseers and I were impressed. But when it came to the next Trial, she stood no chance. Not without a real wand."

She could just imagine Katie's rage at losing. She'd always been competitive, especially when it came to quidditch or flying.

"You didn't answer my question."

"You won't be getting out of your duties, if that's what you're thinking. But I suppose— hypothetically— you'd get to choose the wizard. The rules aren't set, since there's never been any need."

Choose the wizard. It wasn't much, but it was a small agency she ached for. Desperation and determination built walls inside her heart. The magic stirred in her veins at just the idea.

"Not that your promises mean much, but I want an oath that if I win, you'll honour what you just told me. A choice for a win."

"Will that help soothe the sting of loss?"

"It might."

She lied. Nothing would soothe her anger toward him for starting her Trials early.

He gave a nod. It wasn't a formal agreement, but Hermione knew that was as much as she'd get from him.

Who would she choose if given a chance? That was the tricky question. She wanted to say Malfoy, but could she really trust him? Titus' betrayal made it hard to trust. If he could break a promise, then anyone could. Despite years of letters, she didn't know Draco well enough. And Viktor… he had kind eyes, but she no longer depended on her judgement of character in people.

"Well, unlike Katie, I'm bringing a wand, and I'm going to use it too."

Again, his eyes dismantled her. Her nerves buzzed with a mixture of fury and dread. He reached out to touch her cheek, but as she had for the last week, she shuffled out of the way just in time. His jaw clenched, and he dropped his hand into a curled fist.

"I assume you think I'd be a tyrant and deny you." He took a step toward her, and she retreated another. She never wanted to be touched by him again. "But I'll let you have a wand. It's already been pre-approved by the overseers. Go ahead and fight. Use all the intelligence and fierceness you possess— every bit of strength and magic— because I don't want you to wonder if you could have ever won against me."

"Did you rig the Trials?" Hermione asked, no longer wanting to hedge around her suspicions. "And don't lie to me. I'll be able to tell."

He stopped and stared at her for a long time, as if debating what to reveal.

"I've tried to," he admitted. "They all owe me favours. I have some wiggle room, and I plan to collect my payment by the end of the day, if I can." He sighed. "But Lucius has also secured favours from all of the overseers, which can potentially cancel some of it out. Or not. I have a plan to win, of course. But— we'll see. Does that satisfy you?"

Not really.

"I suppose."

It did arm her with more information than she had before. So he could call in favours, as long as it didn't undermine Lucius? What leeway did that give him? Hermione was tired of being moved around like a pawn. It was time she started becoming a player in her own game. She decided if she had a choice that she'd pick Viktor and move far, far away to Bulgaria.

Hermione hardened her determination as he stepped out of the way, and they both entered the floo.

They travelled to an old section in the bowels of the ministry, a place formerly used to train new recruits to the DMLE. Cold sliced through her, the type that took her breath away even with warming charms. She controlled her shivering, not wanting to show Titus any weakness while stomping in front of him, denying him the right to walk beside her.

It might be petty. It might be childish. But it felt good. His frustrated frown at her lack of affection made it all worthwhile.

When they went past the double doors, Hermione pulled to a stop, examining the room. It was large and mostly empty. A long table was off to the side near the wall, on a slightly raised dais, already filled with the four men overseeing her Trial. Their function was to make sure the contestants followed the rules, and their memories were subject to examination by the courts in case an allegation of cheating was made. She knew their names by sight:

Macnair.

Goyle Senior.

Dolohov.

Snape.

The last one made her take an instant step back, as a horrid thought crept up her spine.

They all owe me favours.

The only favour she could think of was the botched inquiry of James Potter. Her insides turned woozy at the thought. Did Titus kill Harry's father on purpose so that he had a judge in his pocket? Or did he just open an investigation for a quid pro quo, and it went horribly wrong? What else did he do to secure the judges? It was too insidious to consider.

Hermione shook her head, attempting to clear her mind. She'd think about the possibility later. Right now, she couldn't afford the distraction. She needed to concentrate on the task ahead.

Hermione crossed her arms and took deep, calming breaths while she waited, attempting to meditate her fears away while waiting for the other contestants.

Viktor arrived first, in clothes similar to Titus, armour wrapped around his torso, except for a crest sewn in red and a lining of fur around the collar. When he met her eyes, he gave a bashful grin. The tops of his cheeks turned slightly red.

"Hello, Herm-own-ninny."

"Hello," she said back, feeling equally shy.

It was odd to see him again, looking much fiercer, having grown into his heavy features. He was shorter than Titus, but bulkier, with wide shoulders, buzzed hair, and eyes just as kind as she remembered. The thought that she might have to go home with this man—a stranger—to another country—was too surreal to comprehend. She didn't know the language, culture, or history. She really should have researched Bulgaria more.

Viktor said nothing further to her, but went to the front to fill out the paperwork. She assumed Titus had already completed his when he turned in the tokens.

When Malfoy entered beside his father, her stomach swooped low. Lucius grabbed his shoulder as they crossed the threshold, talking low to him. Draco nodded at certain points. They were the same height now and of a similar build, except Draco had clipped his hair short on the sides, leaving it tousled on top. He looked handsome in his body armour, the pitch black contrasting with his pale skin. His cheekbones seemed sharper than she remembered, reminding her of his angel-monster father, who'd haunted her dreams as a child.

She looked him over for any sign of stress— a tremble of his hand, a clench of his jaw—but after his father left, he swaggered to the front to fill out his paperwork, giving her a wink along the way.

"You look lovely this morning, Hermione."

"Don't talk to her," Titus warned. "Don't even look at her."

Draco just gave him a cocky, mocking grin before going along his way.

Hermione envied his confidence. It oozed from him. He moved forward with assurance, as if he wasn't the underdog in the race.

When he finished signing his scrolls, he went to stand by Viktor. He took out his wand and twirled it in his hands, as if fidgeting helped him think. As soon as he stood still, his face went blank in an eerie way. Theo told her once that Draco was a natural occlumens, and with personal training from his father and Snape, he'd become a master. Not even his Aunt Bellatrix, a formidable legilimens, could break through his mental walls.

She wondered what went on under the mask. Wondered what would happen if she cracked it open.

After rolling up the scrolls they'd signed, Snape put them away.

"Is the girl participating?" Dolohov asked in a raspy voice that caused a chill to cascade across her body. She'd heard a lot about him, but this was the first time she'd seen him up close. He had dark hair with pale skin and a pointed beard, resembling an overgrown rat. Her instincts warned that she stood in the presence of a predator.

"Yes," Titus answered, crossing his arms along his chest.

Dolohov gave a nod. Apparently, she didn't need to sign anything like the men.

"What's in the contract?" Hermione asked Titus, while waiting for the formal time to begin.

"Just a liability agreement in case of permanent injury or death."

"Death?"

"Just a precaution," he said. "The Trials can be dangerous and sometimes accidents occur."

"So you won't be trying to… kill each other."

"Lucky for Malfoy, no. Certain Trials will require magic, and in others, magic is banned. The contracts prove that the competitors entered the Trials of their own free will, and if something does happen, the families can't retaliate for the loss of a son, especially from the old families."

"If it's so dangerous, why am I allowed to compete?"

"You'll be wrapped with so many charms specific to each Trial, nothing will be able to hurt you."

"Okay— so I can't get hurt, but no one else has charms. Has death really ever occurred?"

"A few times. Don't worry, Sprite. Nothing will happen to me." He touched her arm, but she shoved it off, much to his consternation.

"Maybe I'm worried for Malfoy."

His face dropped from its grin into a dark glare.

"Maybe you should be."

A cough for attention interrupted anything she could reply, and they all turned their attention to the front when Snape stood up. He looked impossibly bored.

"Before we begin, I am going to go over the rules one more time." He looked at each of them as if they were unruly school children. "There will be no fighting or duelling in between Trials, and there will be no fighting other competitors within the Trial, unless otherwise stated. The first Trial will happen this morning. After a break for lunch, we'll have the second Trial. If need be, the Trials will be extended into a second day. As you know, the first competitor to win two trials wins the muggleborn. The results can be appealed, but only if there's substantial evidence of cheating." He stopped and glanced around. "Any questions?"

No one made a noise or movement, but Hermione slowly raised her hand. Snape turned a withering glare toward her.

"This is not Hogwarts—thankfully— so there's no need to raise your hand so eagerly, Ms. Hermione."

"I have a question."

"Of course you do."

Hermione withheld her spike of irritation. Even if she didn't loathe his entire existence, his prickly personality rubbed her the wrong way.

"What are the challenges? And do we get to choose them?"

Snape narrowed his eyes.

"Shortly after the tokens had been entered, we'd owled out a list of ten Trials that the competitors could choose from. They'd pre-selected their favourite and sent it back several days ago to be approved."

"So all three of the men got to select one Trial, but what about the fourth? How will that be chosen? And how will we decide who gets to go first?"

"Are you always so incessant with questions?"

Hermione felt chagrined, her cheeks heating. She lifted her chin, unwilling to be embarrassed by the man.

"Yes," she said. "These are my Trials, therefore, I deserve to know what is to come."

At her firm response, Dolohov gave her a grin that reminded her of a Manticore. He tilted his head, studying her. She didn't like his eyes roaming her body, though they didn't seem to have a lecherous edge, more so interested. They felt like knives, as if he wished to peel back her skin to see her veins.

Snape sighed, making it clear that this was the last place he wished to be.

"In the case of only three tokens, the fourth Trial is set by the judges. It's the same every time. Most Trials end earlier."

Snape reached down and tugged up a small cauldron, and then he reached in his robe and took out the three tokens.

"To make the Trials fair, we use a randomizer charm."

It was a common charm for gambling. Usually, it scrambled numbers or objects in a random way to prevent cheating and create a fair environment.

He held up each token—the Nott crest, the Malfoy crest, the Krum crest. They gleamed as he dropped each one inside the cauldron. A thick smoke erupted, covering the top.

After letting the smoke drift away, Snape stuck his hand inside the cauldron and pulled out a token. He glanced down at it, and then opened his palm, showing the Krum crest.

"Viktor Krum," Snape drawled. "You have the honour of first choice. Inform the other competitors which Trial you've chosen, and then we'll wait for the elves to finish the final preparations before using a portkey to move to the new location."

Viktor grinned, pulling a miniature broom from his pocket, which expanded to full size as he lifted it in the air. "Flying."

An hour later, they lined up in front of an extended quidditch pitch, four times the length of a normal one. One hoop stood lonely in the distance. Bludgers hung in the air, already vibrating. She didn't recognize the location, but the cold wind whipped around her, shifting her braid back and forth.

Titus stood next to Hermione. "You don't have to do this. No one will think less of you if you bow out."

Out of everyone, he knew best how much she loathed flying.

Hermione had already gone through a solid twenty minutes of panic. She didn't need another voice of doubt on top of it. She didn't just hate flying. Her whole body revolted at the thought of being in the air.

For the past ten minutes, she'd trembled, holding a borrowed broom, looking at the impossible task ahead of her. Of course Viktor would choose flying. He was a professional quidditch player. Add to that, both Titus and Malfoy were great flyers, having been quidditch captains in school.

The only person who would fail at this task was her.

She didn't think it would be a simple fly around either. She knew hidden surprises lurked— dangers created to increase the challenge.

It made despair eat through her earlier determination. Her very first challenge, and she'd fail it. It was a foregone conclusion. Maybe Titus had been right. Maybe this was a meaningless tradition. How could she compete against three talented wizards who'd been given every privilege of magical knowledge when she'd just stolen tidbits here and there, begging for more scraps to be thrown her way?

Still, she tightened her hold on the broom handle, unwilling to concede defeat so early.

"I'm doing this."

Titus sighed, but he nodded. The ministry elves had already placed all sorts of repellent and cushioning charms on her. And when she thought they were done, Titus put several more. They might as well have wrapped her in a bubble for all the protections on her at the moment.

The broom felt unforgiving under her fingertips, and she resisted the desire to clench against the wood.

Hold it lightly, she remembered Theo telling her it once. Too tight and you'll overcompensate when turning.

"As we are about to begin, I'm going to go over the rules of this specific Trial," Dolohov announced from the sidelines, wearing a thick fur coat with matching hat, resembling a bear. The other overseers stood near him, bracing themselves against the wind. "If you attempt to lift off the ground before the bell, you will be automatically disqualified. Since this is a skill-based Trial, no magic will be allowed on the quidditch pitch. Any use of magic, especially against an opponent, will earn an automatic disqualification, though you may use your broom and body to knock off an opponent if you are able. The goal is simple— the first person to fly through the hoop at the far end of the pitch will win." He paused. "Are we all in agreement with the rules?"

The men next to her each gave one swift nod, showing their acceptance. She gave her own, though she knew it didn't matter.

"Very well." Dolohov made a motion to the elves with a sharp wave of his hand. "The Trial will start in ten seconds."

Hermione braced her feet and crouched, wishing she'd gotten over her fear of flying long ago, wishing she'd taken advantage of Theo's constant attempts at lessons. She sensed Titus stare at her as she bent low over her broom. He straddled his own, looking grave.

Her teeth clenched just as a bell sounded, so loud she felt it in her bones. The men shot off into the air. Hermione followed, but she already knew she couldn't keep up.

Just as she suspected, dangers lay in wait.

A torrent of fire whipped by Viktor. He yelled as he was caught in the firestream, but he didn't slow down as the bristles on his broom sparked and sizzled. He barrel-rolled to avoid a bludger, crouching lower as he accelerated to an impossible speed.

A metal spike shot up from the ground, almost impaling Draco, but, like Viktor, he elegantly twisted around it.

Hermione withheld her gasp, the shock almost causing her to pause. That could have killed him. She knew that the players risked bodily injury and death, but Hermione assumed it was liability for rare accidents. But fire and metal spikes?

Hermione flew along at a tortoise's pace compared to the rabbits before her, and unlike the fable, she wouldn't win. She strangled her broom with her hands, knowing it wouldn't help her. She waited for a spike or a bludger, but after flying close to the center of the pitch, she realised nothing was attacking her. Hermione didn't know whether to be relieved or offended at the kid gloves they used with her.

While Viktor flew beautifully, twisting and turning, Titus flew methodically, only doing what he must. He whipped his broom around as if to dominate it.

Now right behind Viktor, Titus used his broom, impressively diving and stopping right before a bludger, whacking it forward— a perfect shot. It slammed into Viktor, causing him to spin for a moment, losing the lead as Titus levelled his broom and shot forward, showing off his reflexes as a spike hurtled at his side, missing by inches. The hoop was in sight, but the closer they got toward the end, the more obstacles blocked them.

Unlike Titus and Viktor, Draco didn't seem to be in a hurry, hanging at the tail end. Having seen him play quidditch several times, she knew he could be much faster, so the odd behaviour drew her attention. As she watched, a net flew at Draco, but it missed as he zoomed to the left at top speed. But as soon as the danger vanished, so did his pace.

Soon enough, he had slowed so much that he hovered near her. She glared up at him, sensing something off.

"What are you—"

"Catch!" Draco twisted down, and—just like Titus—the bristles on his black firebolt caught a bludger. The quidditch ball flew toward her at such a significant speed she had no way to avoid the impact.

It smacked into her. The surprise made her cry out as she tumbled off her broom. Unused to quidditch, her hands lifted away and she began to freefall.

Draco swooped at lightning fast speed.

"Got you!" He grabbed her along the waist and somehow pulled her right in front of him, pressed tight to his chest, one hand splayed along her stomach.

It took a moment for Hermione to realise she was still screaming.

"Shh," he whispered in her ear. "You're not falling anymore."

"You absolute arse!" She twisted and tried to smack him, but he dodged each blow, except a few whacks on his shoulder.

"Calm down, Granger, you aren't hurt."

He was right— the charms deflected the Bludger. The recoil of it had caused her to fall. Her fear still buzzed along her skin, and she felt nauseous, but her brain began to work again.

"Why the fuck did you do that?"

"To hold you in my arms, of course."

Her eye twitched, wondering if there was a person in the universe more infuriating.

"But you lost the race," she said, unable to understand why he did that.

"Krum's a professional, Granger. And Titus is a trained auror. I'm great at flying. I might even be on par with Titus, but I'm not an idiot. I'm a strategist, and there wasn't any need to waste my energy." He sounded amused, as if he knew a joke she didn't. "Besides, why would I desire to win this when I could hold close the most beautiful distraction?"

He made no sense.

The bell sounded. Hermione's eyes popped up. She hadn't even paid attention to the rest of the Trial, too focused on Draco.

Viktor hovered right on the opposite side of the hoop with one fist raised in the air in triumph. Titus levitated close to him, eyes full of rage. But the fury wasn't directed at Viktor, it was directed in her direction.

The race must have been close. They were both sweaty and red, panting in deep gulping breaths.

Viktor won the first challenge.

She didn't know what to feel.

"Perfect," Draco said behind her. She glanced back to find him grinning slyly, as if everything worked out according to his plan.

"I thought you wanted to win. Why would you be happy for Krum?" She asked.

"I am winning."

Titus flew toward them, low and fast. Without impediments, it only took a few seconds.

"How dare you fucking touch her," he yelled when he got close enough.

"She fell from her broom, Nott. What was I supposed to do? Don't worry, she's safe in my arms." He tugged her tight to his body, and Titus nearly snapped, hand hovered over his wand.

Draco drifted toward the ground slowly, and Titus followed. Their feet had barely touched the ground before Titus yanked her off the broom and into his hold.

Most men would cower before an irate Titus, but Draco straightened, looking him in his eyes.

"You need to start controlling your temper," Draco said. "It's so hard to concentrate when you're angry."

A beautiful distraction.

Titus had been in the lead when she'd last seen him, zooming toward the hoop. Did her scream make him slow down enough that Viktor pulled ahead?

Or was it the sight of her flying pressed close to Draco, with his fingers splayed along her stomach?

Whatever the reason, she understood now that Draco was responsible for Titus' loss.

"Pull a stunt like that again, Malfoy, and I'll gut you and your father too."

When they arrived back at the Ministry by portkey, Viktor gave her a broad smile that was hard not to match. He was clutching his side, and when he lifted his hand off, it was covered in blood.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"It is only a scratch." He winced, but he withdrew his wand and cast a basic healing spell. When they had a break, he'd need to stop by a healer and have them patch it up properly.

"How does it feel to finally lose at something, Nott?" Draco taunted, stepping closer to them than he should.

Titus' mouth twitched, but he didn't react, keeping his face impassive. He let his eyes linger on Hermione.

"It won't happen again." It was said so low, so seriously, that it caused her body to prickle.

Titus had something planned this time.

Hermione suspected the first challenge wasn't as important as she thought it might be. Draco didn't seem concerned over Viktor's win. He'd only cared that Titus lost. But why?

Snape and the four overseers sat on the dais at their table. The cauldron was in the center, already smoking.

"It is now time to select the next Trial," Snape drawled. "After that, we'll have a brief break for lunch and any minor medical care you need. We will meet back here for the second Trial of the day in the afternoon."

Titus' hand flexed. It was subtle, but she'd been reading his subtle hints for years.

Excitement.

Snape dipped his hand into the cauldron. As he dug around, the realisation hit Hermione.

She knew Titus must have called in one of his favours to be the next token.

Viktor picked something he wouldn't lose at. There was only one thing Titus was a prodigy at.

Snape withdrew the token.

"Titus Nott."

The name burned her insides, knowing what was to come.

Titus' glanced at her, finally open enough for her to view his thoughts without digging them out: a smug satisfaction, a deep affection— an apology.

"What challenge have you chosen for your Trial?" Snape asked.

Titus held her stare. His wand hand flexed again.

"Duelling."