Two masked Death Eaters stood there, but even before their wands were fully raised, Hermione shouted "Glisseo!"

The stairs beneath their feet flattened into a chute and she, Harry, and Ron hurtled down it, unable to control their speed but so fast that the Death Eaters' Stunning Spells flew far over their heads. They shot through the concealing tapestry at the bottom and spun onto the floor, hitting the opposite wall.

"Duro!" cried Hermione, pointing her wand at the tapestry, and there were two loud, sickening crunches as the tapestry turned to stone and the Death Eaters pursuing them crumpled against it.

- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, JK Rowling


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The first Saturday of term brought the semi final of the much anticipated Duelling Contest, where all four House Champions would fight each other for the first time. The atmosphere at breakfast was even more anticipatory than that of a Quidditch day; all four houses had a stake in this day after all - and all four hoped their champion would come up trumps and make it through to the final.

Henry was only a first year but, like most of his peers, he quite worshipped the tall, handsome prefect who'd be representing their house, and so he was practically bouncing on his seat with excitement. Aldfrith Diggory was Quidditch captain as well as prefect, and quite the best looking boy in Hufflepuff. Henry worshipped him but not, although Henry kept it quiet, quite as much as he worshipped Hermione Dearborn, with her cool smile and kind eyes. Hermione, who'd actually sent him a Christmas present, and who helped him with Transfiguration.

He'd got quite a few smirks when he'd put a galleon on her to get through to the final in front of his house mates, who'd all loyally backed Diggory, except a snide-faced blond fifth year who'd only backed the Head Boy.

Tom Riddle was, most people thought, probably the safest bet, but the odds on him were so bad it was hardly worth betting. At least you'd get some money back if Aldfrith went through. And someone had to fight Riddle, after all, or it wouldn't be much of a final. A tiny – even to Henry's eyes – Ravenclaw third year was the unofficial bookie for the whole school. Filius Flitwick had, by all accounts, invented the charm that floated above his head as he walked around collecting last-minute gold and silver, a list of constantly updating figures that showed the changing odds as people placed their bets. He had also apparently created several rather nasty anti-cheating jinxes. Hufflepuffs backed their own, so Henry had also put some sickles on Diggory for the other matches. He wasn't wholly disloyal.

But the real match that everyone was talking about in the older years was the one between the Hermione Dearborn and the much-beloved Head Boy. They'd been a source of hot gossip in the Sett the whole week, ever since Plum Blight said she'd seen them kissing on the dance floor at the Malfoys' new year party (which was mainly an excuse to remind everyone she'd been to the Malfoys' new year party, Henry thought). Out of loyalty to Hermione, he hadn't mentioned Tom Riddle coming to sit with her on the Hogwarts Express when they travelled up to London, but plenty of people had seen them talking on the ride back to Scotland, and pretty much everyone was interested in anything Riddle did.

Henry could see why. He hoped he'd be just like Tom when he was a bit older. And if Henry could accept that he was too young for Hermione, for now, at least, he thought that Tom (not that he'd ever dare to call him that aloud – he flushed even thinking about it) was a pretty understandable choice, even if he sort of hated him for it. The gossip was made juicier because they'd hardly been seen together all week, and Henry knew that was true because he spent a lot of evenings in the library watching Hermione do her homework and hoping she'd notice him and say hello in front of his friends. She did, sometimes, and it elevated him to a person of interest for a few minutes because a pretty seventh year he wasn't related to bothered to acknowledge him. And he'd noticed that usually Tom would sit with her sometimes, or at least near her or stop and chat, but he hadn't that past week, except for a brief, hushed conversation the night before.

One day, when he was handsome and tall and a powerful magician like Tom Riddle, Hermione would always notice him, of course. He comforted himself with that. Perhaps when he'd grown a bit more, and came up higher than her shoulder.

Henry looked over at the Ravenclaw table and watched as his very first crush and focus of most of his hero worship sat down, looking slightly paler than usual, but much calmer than the Gryffindor champion, who'd had to leave the table in rather a rush, green faced and sweating. She was wearing a dark grey cloak and had her hair pulled back tightly off her face, lending it more severity than usual.

"You're staring again," Amity Verrill said in her snotty know-it-all voice and Henry flushed, ducking his eyes back on his plate and moving his attention to the very excellent bacon. Someone had moved in the way now, anyway, blocking her from view.

"Honestly," she carried on, meanly, "it's not as if she'd ever look at a little first year like you."

"Oh shut up Amity," Milly Quinball hissed. "As though you didn't stare longingly after Finngal Heaney."

He tuned out the ensuing argument, which was not the first and nor would it be the last, until Amity, who really didn't live up to her name at all (but would, eventually, although Henry didn't know that yet), said she hoped no one would die, because did he know someone had in 1901 and –

Die. Surely Tom wouldn't let Hermione die? Even the bacon seemed unappealing after that.

The first duel was at half past nine, and the students filed out of the Great Hall, towards the Quidditch pitch. Henry gasped when he took his seat in the stands.

It had been completely transformed, the grass covered with flagstones and wooden floorboards and carpet. It was a house without a roof; a long dining table set out for twenty people ran down the centre of one room, a suit of armour guarding the entrance to a passage out. Walls twelve feet high divided off rooms around a clear space in the centre, black and white marble on the floor and nothing at all in the room. Corridors and rooms, furnished like an old manor house with paintings, beds, desks, bookshelves, carpets. It was amazing.

The model house floated about forty feet above the ground, about eye-level with the bottom stands and now Henry understood why all the older students had sat at the bottom instead of the top like they did for matches.

The stands were even more packed than they were were Gryffindor played Slytherin; no one was skipping this for the Library clearly, and the bright blocks of house colours everyone was draped in made it easy to see at a glance who was where. The red black of the Gryffindor stands opposite stood out against the dull grey January sky, a lion banner roaring above the crowd and pacing its cloth agitatedly.

Professor Merrythought rose from a platform Henry hadn't noticed before, flanked by Professors Dumbledore and two people he didn't recognize. Her amplified voice rang around the stadium,

"Welcome. First and foremost, a reminder of the rules. All spells used must be legal. All battles must be umpired and must not continue outside the designated duelling` arena. Any Unforgiveable spells will result in immediate expulsion and will be reported to the Ministry. Any permanent damage intentionally caused to a combatant will result in immediate expulsion and will be reported to the Ministry. All dark Curses are banned from the competition. All duels must be fought in compliance with the International Duelling Regulations and the Hogwarts School Rules. Contestants in the final may not assist themselves with artefacts, enspelled clothing or dragon hide. In life, a battle will rarely be fought on a simple platform; and so for these final rounds the environment is a part and parcel of the duel itself. Within this house are hidden challenges, and extra points will be awarded for awareness, and creative use of, the arena itself. Each of our house champions will fight each other, and the two with the most points will progress to the final."

The first match between Tom Riddle and Jasper Brown didn't last long. About fifteen minutes into what seemed an awesome, dazzling array of spell casting to Henry's eyes, the Head Boy side-stepped a nasty mustard-yellow coloured curse before forcing the Gryffindor champion with a blast of red. He avoided it, but he'd stumbled into a desk and lost his balance.

"Nice stunner," one of the older girls said admiringly from a few rows in front. "Did you see how vivid it was?"

They'd left the main room by then, and as Brown hit the desk it exploded into a thousand-thousand pieces, bursting up. The crowd gasped as one, horrified as the dust cleared to reveal both boys bleeding, deep cuts across their bare skin, robes ragged.

But somehow Riddle kept his head and Jasper Brown was suddenly wrapped in rope, staining with blood before their eyes. He was carried away by the healers, and that was that.

Even the Gryffindors clapped Tom Riddle off the pitch, still bleeding but a smile on his pale face. He was the school's saviour, and that wasn't forgotten even in House competitions.

Hermione was up next, against Aldfrith, and Henry felt a bit sick. He hadn't recognized all the spells and curses in the first match, but it looked nasty – and difficult, and he didn't think he'd like to see her bleeding.

She was the only girl in the competition, but when she shed the cloak Henry was surprised to see her wearing trousers and boots like a Muggle man. They clung to her long legs, leather boots stopping just below the knee, and although she was properly covered it seemed rather an exciting choice of clothes for a woman. He wasn't the only one; some of the Purebloods looked disdainful at the lack of robes.

"How daring!" Amity said, though, looking impressed. "Sensible, too, look you can see how much easier she's moving than Aldfrith."

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She was trapped. Something built into the arena had snared her wand arm, wrapping around it like a Devil's Snare. But she'd beaten Diggory round the corner, dodging out of sight to fight a strategic position. They'd bowed to each other across the bare marble-floored room, but that was the hardest room to fight in – especially for Hermione who'd always been good at using her environment to her advantage. She'd let Diggory drive her slowly back towards the entrance to whatever was off the hall and then, spelling the doorway shut behind her, she'd dashed out of the room to find somewhere better to fight. But she'd barely made it around the next corner before the wall had reached out and grabbed her. She could hear his pounding steps as he ran up the corridor, casting wildly ahead of him.

Thinking fast, Hermione cast a bedazzling hex on herself. It wasn't as strong as she'd have liked but it might be enough for him not to notice her while she got free. He was nearly on her and she shrank back against the wall.

Hermione held her breath and he ran on past her and when he'd gone almost to the end of the short passage she fired two non-verbal Reductos at either side and brought the corridor walls crashing down between them. And then, moments later, she'd freed herself, severing the snaring spell with several successively cast Defindos. Diggory was trying to blast through the rubble mountain she'd created. Idiot; he should go over the top, she thought. But no matter – it gave her time and after casting Duro on the pile to make it harder for him, she went quietly back into the hallway she'd come through. She was the better spell-caster, she'd learned that in first minutes of the duel, but she'd tried to be too clever. She could face him head on and win easily.

He wasn't far behind and she'd hardly reached the big central room again and spun around before he flung a curse. She sidestepped, easily dodging the Furnunculus, which seemed an odd choice in the circumstances, and then, as she feinted and pulled him the wrong way Aldfrith stumbled into the fire he hadn't seen her cast at his back, a fire that gave off no heat – but burned terribly if you touch it. Thus distracted, it was easy to drop him with a stunner.

Hermione bent down, panting lightly. Young men, she found herself thinking, mostly all duelled the same. Lots of unnecessary running around and flailing that made their next move easy enough to judge – especially after months of private lessons with Albus Dumbledore and private practice. She almost wished she could go and re-do the war over. She knew so much more, now. Was so much more powerful, assured.

It was a thrilling feeling, and went some way to dispelling her nerves. The match had barely lasted twenty minutes and she'd been holding back slightly – nothing mattered except beating Tom, just once and she didn't want him to see all she could do before she faced him.

She watched, calmly triumphant, as the Mediwitch woke Diggory up with a Renervate. The judges pronounced her the winner, and she and the handsome Hufflepuff bowed to each other and climbed back off the platform as the blue section of the crowd took to their feet, a beckoning roar that thrilled through her blood. It felt like something was starting, she thought staring up at the crowd, all blurred together in blue.

Because Hermione had won the last duel, she was up next again, while Diggory recovered from his stunner. It took some time for the teachers to repair the arena, which itself was a marvel of magic. An enchanted house without a roof, creating a terrain that was quite unlike fighting in the old hall they'd used for the intra-House bit of the competition. This was far more like a fight in real life – and that gave Hermione an advantage because unlike her peers she was far more accustomed to fighting in such spaces.

None of them had been allowed to see it beforehand, although Albus had dropped a few hints and she doubted Tom would allow himself to go in blind. He'd have slipped in somehow, she thought, eyes seeking him out, a dark black figure with a blaze of green and silver at his back. Slughorn was sitting fatly beside him, talking and gesturing. Tom had an expression of polite attentiveness on his face, which meant Slughorn was giving him advice he planned to completely ignore. Professor Wolfe, other than praising Hermione and giving her a reinvigorating potion had done no such thing, for which she was grateful.

Could she beat him? She'd find out soon enough.

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But the judge's called out Jasper's name next and she whirled through that duel in a blur of rapid-fire exchanges. He was good, but unimaginative, and she beat him in the end although it took longer than the first match.

Watching Tom and Aldfrith, though, was stirring. She was tired and grateful for the rest; complicated magic was tiring and The Hufflepuff seemed more prepared – perhaps he'd underestimated her, or perhaps her knew Tom better, but watching the two handsome wizards fight was something special. Tom, even hampered by being unable to use the full extent of his magical knowledge, was nothing short of awesome to watch. Even in the most vicious exchange, he never really seemed to lose control; dark hair hardly out of place. And yet – he was just a young man, for all that. There was nothing there that reminded her of watching Voldemort and Harry. He cast with a fierce joy and reverence for magic, using some spells even she didn't recognize, blinding in their power.

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And then it was time to face him. As she walked into the arena and took her position she thought of his whispered words and his dazzling kisses, and she thought of who he would become and all he'd do, of the lives he'd already taken and all those who'd die because of his ambition, and she smiled as she bowed to him.

We've both been holding back, she thought, but I know it and you don't. I'll ruin you.

And even before the bow was done they were off; and she set a huge fire fifteen-foot high burning between them, burning so high it rose up over the walls and the crowd screamed its appreciation. A fire too hot for his curses to get through, a fire she had invented. She used the hard-bought time – bought with sweating hours in Dumbledore's classroom – to cast on herself as she ran away. It was the same tactic she'd tried with Diggory, but this time she was more prepared. She had a plan. She strengthened herself with Salvio hexa, Protego horribilis, charms to heighten her senses, charms to speed her up, charms that turned her simple clothes spell-proof and fire-proof – not as good as dragon hide, admittedly, but he'd have a harder time landing anything on her now.

Wizards, being what they were, didn't often think of such things. But a Muggleborn witch from the future had far more scope of vision of what might be possible – and Hermione used every advantage. After pausing for only a moment to fling a silent curse into the first room she passed, Hermione ducked into the second side room, and waited, listening. Sure enough his quiet footsteps – for Tom Riddle wasn't Aldfrith Diggory and had a far subtler mind – paused further down the corridor.

Go in, she thought, desperately hoping she hadn't miscalculated. Because beating Tom would take trickery – he was too powerful and clever for her to be sure she could beat him face to face. But he did, and muffled clanging and crashes told her he must have brushed against something in the room. She smirked and darted out of her hiding place, and almost caught him with an Impedimenta as he rushed back into the corridor.

"Clever girl," he called as he flung something nasty and purple back at her. "What was that?"

"Oh, you've never heard of the Gemino curse? Obscuro!"

He ducked and a painting on the wall yelled as the blindfold dropped over its eyes.

"I don't think it's ever come up. Incarcerous."

The spell brushed her left foot as she dived out of the way and for the second time that day Hermione was trapped. Panic surged but she was its master now, and she used the extra adrenaline. Think.

Reducto was her friend again, and this time she brought the wall down on top of him, using the split-second of distraction while he cast a shield to release herself from the binding to free herself.

"Did you know some wizards and witches have a certain affinity for some magics, Tom?" she asked calmly, behind a shield of her own. Stalemate - for now. She couldn't hold a shield like this and cast, and anything less powerful wouldn't block him. Outside of school, perhaps even this wouldn't hold off what he could do. But he wasn't firing to kill and that made him weaker.

He didn't reply but he didn't cast either. Curiosity killed the cat, she thought, and smirked, gleefully holding out a hand dripping with bluebell covered flames.

"That was just a taste, earlier."

She twisted to the left as she dropped her shield, dodging the curse that he sent almost before she'd released it. And then she set the arena around them ablaze in a hundred different shades of fire. Every single fire spell she'd learned with Dumbledore or created herself came bursting out one after the other, surging up in scorching towers of purple and blue and orange and green ringing around them and a great blaze white white hot between them.

He laughed from behind the inferno, and a wave crashed over it, white horses galloping along the top and seaweed dragging along with it as it tumbled over, a spell she'd never heard of –icy steel grey seawater fighting the fire, a great haze of steam hissing up violently. The fire burned on, but smaller and as he jumped over it, stalking towards her she slashed her wand, vicious and quick and the whole side of his torso opened up, bleeding an angry crimson.

"The colour of your dress on my birthday," he said, uncaring as they faced each other. She almost hesitated at that – and then she was at the end of his wand. He was hardly even a foot away, but he'd miscalculated. Her fire wasn't given away to the world when she cast it. It was part of her and she controlled it, and horror crossed his face as his robes caught alight, and she laughed.

"Petrificus Totalus," she whispered, and took his wand from his frozen hand just as he toppled to the floor, eyes full of hate and desire.

He lay there and she smothered the fires all as one. His hands were burnt, she saw, and knew she'd pay for that later but none of that mattered as she took in the prone body of the Dark Lord on the floor at her feet, only his eyes moving. She dropped to her knees and kissed his cheek.

"Don't ever," she whispered, "underestimate me again."

She dropped his wand carelessly, leaving it lying four feet from his body as she turned and stalked out of the arena. The Ravenclaws were on their feet, stamping and cheering, and she let the exaltation wash through her.


This was the hardest chapter to write ever ever ever ever. It's taken me so long! A special thanks to my wonderful friend frak-all for her help/support/alpha reading/drunken advice/encouragement. You probably wouldn't have this chapter without her! She's a very talented writer and if you haven't checked her out you can find her under my favourite authors tab.

As always, I can't thank you enough for your continuing support and patience. I can't reply to everyone but I read and treasure all your wonderful comments.

PS the best way to reach me directly is tumblr where you'll find me as cocoartistwrites and I often post updates on my writing there

Thank you again - action is not my forte so I hope this was okay? How do you think Tom will react?

PPS also i did get distracted by Outlander and that pushed this back a bit but i mean have you seen jamie fraser ?