A/N: Sadly, I own neither Code Geass nor Harry Potter.
Year One
Stage 11 - Knightly Affairs
An insidious chirping noise pierced the ears of an innocent, tired witch minding her own business beneath her warm blankets. She tried swatting at it, thinking that maybe a cricket had somehow infiltrated past the insect repelling wards, but her hand struck nothing, and the infernal noise carried on unabated. She tried waiting it out, but the noise only grew louder the longer she ignored it. Her patience soon snapped, and she fired a silencing charm in its direction. The blissful quiet that followed at least let her know she'd hit. Whatever it'd been should have known better than to rouse a witch before she's ready on a Saturday.
A few moments passed on the edge of the abyss.
Wait. Saturday! Tracey's eyes snapped open. The duelling match!
It was the first Saturday of the school year! The duelling club – Granger, really, the true power at play – had scheduled the first Hufflepuff–Gryffindor for the very first weekend, nevermind how little time that gave everyone to prepare. That was an event no one worth their wand would miss! Tracey in particular was eager to see how she compared to Granger by proxy. She suspected she was one of the best duellists in their year and could probably take on her peers two or three years ahead of her, but Granger was such a wild card. She had no idea what to expect.
On that note, maybe they could bond over duelling tactics and the occasional spar. It'd worked for Daphne, after all, when she'd approached Potter via their shared academic interests. Maybe a little too well, even.
At any rate, Tracey's eye drifted next to the obviously cursed artifact Daphne had bought on one of her trips into the muggle world. She'd called it an alarm clock when she'd gifted it, and Tracey hadn't the heart to tell her friend how much she hated it. It worked, at any rate, even if it might as well make her ears bleed. She turned it off and then cast a counterspell at it.
But speaking of whom, Daphne usually woke Tracey up before the alarm went off. Where was she?
A glance across their bedroom revealed a Daphne-sized lump in the other bed. Tracey smiled and decided to leave her to her rest. Tracey would not be the one responsible for interrupting one of the few good nights of sleep she got.
For now, Tracey decided to grab a shower. She had hours before the Hufflepuff–Gryffindor match and the subsequent exhibition tournament this afternoon down at the repurposed quidditch pitch, but she had a few things to see to before then that might take some time. For one, she'd heard the Weasley twins were taking wagers. She had plenty of money, and Daphne was grossly wealthy, but some services money couldn't buy without a little something extra. A sizeable wager on a Hufflepuff victory could give her the leverage she needed for a few favours.
"This is it, folks, the revival of a lost Hogwarts pastime: the duelling club! For those of you transfigured into a rock this past week, here's how this'll go. We have two teams of seven with an eighth in reserve. Each side sends a witch or wizard of their choice out to duel in a series of one on one bouts until they're struck down. Winner of a bout takes a point for their team plus bonus points for fighting above their year level, and good on the munchkins for it.
"First up, we have Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. The lions are led today by the indomitable, invincible, indestructible Ashley Williams."
There was much cheering from the Gryffindor spectators in particular as Gryffindor's current team captain stepped into the arena and waved to her adoring audience.
"And the Hufflepuffs, of course, are led by the infamous, the unforeseen, the one and only Hermione Granger."
The shouts and cries of the Hufflepuffs were almost deafening in their volume, both in magnitude and in number. Miss Granger strode out to meet her opposite upon the field of battle.
"For those of you who are new here, I'm Lee Jordan. I'll be your commentator for today's matches. Joining me for this act is our favourite cat–"
A warning, "Mr Jordan," cut through the air.
"–Professor McGonagall. Sorry, Professor. Just a fact."
Minerva ignored her miscreant lion and carried on with the introductions in his place. "As our resident duelling champion, Professor Flitwick has agreed to referee these matches."
"Hmm… I don't like the cut of his jib. Seems a bit biased toward the Ravenclaws, if you ask me," Mr Jordan replied.
"Mr Jordan, I certainly hope you're not impugning his ability to remain fair and impartial in his judgements. Why he could call you out for an honour duel for that. I'm sure that would be a short and…educational affair."
Mr Jordan emitted a comical eep before hastily switching to ingratiating fawning to much laughter from the audience. As he did, Miss Granger and Miss Williams came together in the centre of the arena with Filius supervising.
"Now that the team captains have met and bowed to each other to start things off properly," Minerva said, "they're free to negotiate any additional desired stipulations on the match. As which house wins the Inter-House Duelling Cup come June is determined by match wins rather than cumulative match points, captains are free to deviate from the default scoring and rules so long as they can agree on any alterations."
"Shouldn't that be transfigurations, Professor?" Mr Jordan asked in jest.
Minerva responded with a dry, "Very amusing, Mr Jordan," and a shake of her head. Then at Filius's signal, she carried on with their announcements. "I've received word that the captains have finished their discussion." It only took a few seconds for Filius to inform her as to the details via a ventriloquism charm. "They're to send out their duellists in year order. The match will otherwise proceed as normal." After a moment, a thought occurred. "Or as shall be normal, rather," she added.
"Straightforward," Mr Jordan observed. "A simple match to get us started off right. No tricks. No gambits. Just wizards and witches matching wits and wands. I like it."
"Indeed. Do you have the team rosters handy?"
"Right here, Professor." Mr Jordan held up a folded piece of parchment for all to see while the captains turned to rejoin their respective teams. "First up in Gryffindor, we have the stupendous–"
Were Minerva in private, she would have rolled her eyes. "Mr Jordan," she said sternly here, "in the interest of time, do keep these introductions to a manageable length."
"Right, right. So first up from Gryffindor, we have Ron Weasley. From Hufflepuff, we have Hermi – wait, that's not right."
Minerva had wondered where Miss Granger would place herself in this first bout. She could fight from the start and attempt to do as much damage as she could. Alternatively, she could save her strength to fight a higher year fresh later on. Now that Minerva had laid eyes on the Hufflepuff lineup, she sensed Mr Potter's influence at work. Miss Granger, as an endless fount of surprise, had chosen a strategy no one would have expected. Moreover, she'd gone a step further and had opted to send in a very unexpected first contender.
Justin Finch-Fletchley stepped out into the arena. He'd had a week of classes so far and very little exposure to magic prior to his arrival at Hogwarts as was typical amongst muggleborn. There was a nervous air about him – clearly a bit of stage fright from the furtive glances he sent toward his audience – but he hid it well enough to fool most of his peers outside Slytherin.
Minerva had a sinking feeling that her lions' were in for a thorough drubbing.
Tracey, bemused, eyed the Hufflepuff boy in the arena. She got why Granger hadn't come out first. This entire match was about sending a message, so it made sense for her to tackle the highest ranked opponent she felt she could crush. But Finch-Fletchley was a muggleborn, wasn't he? Well, Granger was too, but she'd found her way to the magical world early. She didn't count. The point was that he couldn't have learnt how to duel already. He just hadn't had the time for it.
Right?
Then again, Tracey couldn't say she'd been terribly impressed with Weasley in the classes they shared. He wasn't awful, but the boy clearly liked chess more than magic. Not that any of the other first-year Gryffindors would do much better. Maybe this would be a decent fight. Well, as decent a fight as one could have between inexperienced eleven-year-olds.
Professor Flitwick began the match.
Weasley managed to cast some repulsive green coloured spell at his opponent with some moderate speed. Tracey had no idea what the obscure spell would do, but she assumed it would prove suitably debilitating.
Finch-Fletchley, on the other hand, waited until Weasley's spell was on the cusp of completion. He stepped to the side once Weasley fully committed himself to the attack and returned fire with a white spell bolt, crisply cast, that had a monosyllabic incantation and flew fast.
The spell struck the boy dead in the chest. Weasley toppled over and hit the hard arena floor.
A moment later, Professor Flitwick called the match.
The audience fell silent.
No one had expected that of a know-nothing muggleborn, not even the most progressive-minded. And Hufflepuffs weren't supposed to win at anything, especially not in combat against Gryffindors.
That didn't stop the Hufflepuffs from cheering. Others joined in soon enough, tentatively at first and then in a roar when they decided that today's entertainment would be more interesting than expected. Tracey spotted a few uneasy faces amongst the crowd, probably ones who had placed bets that they'd once thought so certain. And then, of course, there were the spell-shocked Gryffindors.
Tracey swallowed a little giggle at that last part.
"Well, that's surprising," Daphne observed in a tone that said she wasn't the slightest bit caught off guard.
Sitting on the opposite side of Daphne as Tracey, Potter remarked, "At their level, dodging and accuracy reign supreme. It's a mere question of who can hit the other first, and Ron froze up."
Daphne eyed Potter with a sidelong look and a knowing smirk. "Is that so? How will the next match go, then, I wonder. I'd thought Granger wanted a clean sweep."
"Dear Greengrass, I'm unconvinced that you've yet to learn how Hufflepuff works."
Daphne chuckled, openly smiled, and turned her attention fully onto the next match as Katie Bell, second-year Gryffindor, stepped out into the arena to face Finch-Fletchley. Despite herself, Tracey frowned at the interaction. She trusted Daphne to stay safe, but she'd never warmed to someone as fast as she had to Potter. Not even her other potential suitors. Especially not her other potential suitors.
But for now, Tracey set that aside as she watched the next match start. Bell and Finch-Fletchley bowed to each other as a customary formality. Afterwards, they took their starting positions and stances. Professor Flitwick held his wand up and began the duel with a bang.
And then Finch-Fletchley immediately conceded.
The crowd fell silent as Finch-Fletchley bowed and then turned and left a bemused Bell behind. Tracey herself had no idea how to take this development. A quick glance to the side, however, revealed a small grin on Daphne's face. There had to be something that she was missing, then.
Professor McGonagall, in her role as commentator, broke the silence first and announced Hufflepuff's next duellist. The girl who walked out into the arena was not a second year but Susan Bones, a friend and fellow first year. Was that it, then? Did Granger intend to put Gryffindor in its place with a team of seven first years? But no, that couldn't be it. A glance at the remaining duellists in Hufflepuff's team told Tracey that.
Unlike the last pair, this match quickly turned into a proper fight. Susan knew the basics from her aunt, Lady Bones, by heart, while Bell had a decent enough grasp of dodging to prolong the duel. Their battle progressed straightforwardly with the two slinging spells back and forth, not really what Tracey had expected from Granger's initial challenge to the whole school. The only notable aspect was Susan's age handicap and the decreased magical reserves that implied. Still, she wasn't about to not cheer on a friend just because she was only being exceptional instead of outstanding.
It came as no surprise when Susan ultimately managed to disarm Bell. Nor, in hindsight, did Tracey find it unexpected when she immediately forfeited after the Gryffindors sent out one of the Weasley twins to face her next. She looked exhausted after a drawn-out slug fest and didn't need to deal with their infamous antics. At the same time, she had a healthy glow of pride about her as she left the arena to speak with her captain. As she should after a victory, of course, but she and Granger seemed to exchange more than a simple congratulations when they met up before Granger handed her off to celebrate with the rest of the team. What was up with that?
"Potter, I'm curious."
At the sound of Daphne's voice, Tracey drew her attention from analysing the third-year Hufflepuff Granger had sent in after Susan left.
"Can I expect to see Granger take the field today?"
Potter replied, "Of course," with a certain smugness that said he knew something interesting, wanted you to know he knew, and fully intended to keep it to himself.
In turn, Daphne hummed curiously but said nothing more. Tracey didn't know what to make of that exchange, and the next match started before she could dwell on it for long.
This third duel was, in a word, frustrating. The Hufflepuff, whose name escaped Tracey, would clearly win eventually because the Weasley twin, whichever one it was, clearly considered the fight a lark. He never missed the chance to shout a pun, favoured tactics that fed his sense of humour, and had no strategy beyond dragging things out as long as possible. Had he fought smarter, he might have won a battle of attrition, but his goal here was clearly just to get a laugh.
And many of the students did laugh, so mission accomplished, Tracey supposed. If nothing else, at least Weasley made duelling look like good fun for all involved. That should help attract and hopefully retain more club members. She'd seen people sign up in Slytherin without much thought only to drift in and out once they realised competition inevitably meant hard work.
The Gryffindors sent in Oliver Wood of all people next. From his reputation, Tracey couldn't conceive of how they'd managed to part him from the quidditch pitch. Then again, they technically hadn't. And two other members of his team had already stepped into the arena, so perhaps there was something more going on there. The two sports did have some overlap. Both required a certain level of physical fitness to truly excel. Maybe he'd opted not to swim against the current and substituted quidditch conditioning with duelling practice.
Tracey then narrowed her eyes when Hufflepuff immediately conceded to Wood. Once was happenstance. Twice was coincidence. The third time was enemy action.
Okay, so Granger is going to have her entire team do this, obviously. But why? It's not strategic at all. What am I missing?
While Tracey pondered the matter, Granger sent a tall second-year Hufflepuff – the last one had been a third-year – named Karl Limpley out to duel Wood. The age difference between the two was substantial, although perhaps not insurmountable. Talent could win out over age and experience, especially since the last three defence professors had been uniformly awful. Two extra years of marginally useful classwork didn't amount to much alone, after all, unless Wood had also practised a lot on his own time. Knowing his reputation, that seemed unlikely.
The match began, and almost immediately, Tracey could tell this one would be different. Wood indeed lacked much of an advantage in technique or spell knowledge, but he had a definitive edge in sheer raw power. For schoolchildren, age counted for a lot. Wood, two years older than his opponent, had far and away more magic. He could afford to batter Limpley's shields, brute-force counter spells sent his way, and otherwise outright overwhelm his opponent.
Then it happened.
Wood's stunner flew straight and true.
Limpley hadn't the footing to dodge and looked too worn down to shield in time.
Had Granger miscalculated this match up?
At the last possible moment, Limpley swiped up with his wand. The tip smacked against Wood's stunner and produced a flash of light. Tracey blinked to clear her eyes and then saw the spell reflect right back at Wood. The boy, visibly shocked, froze and took the spell bolt in the chest.
It was over.
Tracey heard her own reaction echoed all around her in the stunned silence.
What in the name of Merlin's ragged right boot just happened?
Professor Flitwick recovered first and pronounced Limpley the winner. That was enough to bring everyone around, and the crowd went wild. What a save! Who would have thought someone so young could pull off a trick like that! Where had Hufflepuff found this kid? How had he even managed that?
Tracey watched Limpley forfeit his next duel and then, utterly spent, drag himself back to the rest of his team. When he finally made it, he bowed to Granger in what looked like the beginning of some kind of a formal apology, but she just waved him off and helped him the rest of the way.
From there, life only became worse for the Gryffindors. The very next duel proved that Limpley wasn't special. No, it was the entire Hufflepuff team. Now that the cat was out of the bag, the Hufflepuffs went ahead and batted spells aside with their wands like no more than colourful bludgers. The only proper answer Gryffindor had in the short time given to them to collect themselves came in the form of indirect spells: terrain modification, animal transfigurations, physical attacks, areas of effect, and the like. They very plainly hadn't trained in such tactics. Even the Gryffindor captain, who'd had a fair amount of time to prepare, floundered against Cedric Diggory, a mere fourth year, in the final duel.
It was a slaughter.
It was an upset of the natural order.
It was the sign of a shift in power.
The badgers had utterly crushed the lions.
Worse still, anyone with half a brain would suspect that they'd yet to show every trick up their sleeves.
Then something critical derailed Tracey's train of thought. Her gaze snapped to the celebrating Hufflepuff team where her eyes counted the seven participating duellists and then landed on their eighth member.
"Granger was the reserve duellist?" Tracey shrieked as she leapt to her feet. She spun to Potter to interrogate him only to find that he'd already left. Not that she lacked for a alternative source of information. "Daphne! Explain!"
Daphne chuckled. "It's Hufflepuff, Trace. They're all about teamwork."
And that final clue put everything into perspective. "Galloping gargoyles," Tracey said under her breath. "Granger's not their captain. She's their coach."
"Well, both, actually," Daphne casually commented. "It's so antithetically Slytherin that it circles right back around. She just raised up an entire house of nobodies who won't hesitate to jump at her call. I'm sure you can guess to whom she'd credit the idea if you could get her to admit it."
Tracey suddenly felt the stark absence of the Boy-Who-Lived. "Where's Potter?" she asked.
With a nod down at the arena, Daphne said, "Contrary to popular opinion, no one ever said the doubles teams can't cross house lines."
Tracey's head snapped back to the duelling field. Her eyes rapidly scanned back and forth until they landed on Potter and Granger chatting together. Surrounding them was a growing crowd of OWL and NEWT students for the exhibition tournament to come.
"It wouldn't do, after all," Daphne continued, "for those two to let this opportunity slip by."
Tracey collapsed heavily onto her seat. She'd thought they were in over their heads when it came to Potter and Granger. She'd thought to see how she stacked up compared to Granger. But they were just outright out of their league, weren't they?
"Popcorn?"
Tracey opened her mouth, thought better of asking questions, and took a handful of the proffered snack for herself. She didn't know where it'd come from, but she had a feeling the answer involved Potter. Besides, who could say no to popcorn right before a show? Even the blood purists ate it so long as no one told them it came from the muggle world.
"Yes, witches and wizards, you heard that right," Mr Jordan said, his tone a strange mixture of his usual showmanship, surprise, sadness, and shock. "Hufflepuff wins the first match of the year with a score of seventeen to six forfeits. It's a dark day for Gryffindor."
Minerva heaved a sigh. As she read through the single-elimination tournament bracket for the doubles teams' exhibition matches, she noted two things. First was that almost all of the participants were either NEWT students or in their OWL year. She would need to have a talk with Miss Granger about reorganising this aspect of the duelling club to allow for more participation. Perhaps they could have a separate competition for the first through fourth years.
And that would, of course, be all part of the girl's plans. Minerva had suffered through enough plots in her lifetime to recognise one playing out right in front of her. The manner in which Miss Granger had organised the main event clearly demonstrated she knew how to grant everyone a fair chance at meaningful participation. This single division doubles tournament, however, wouldn't last past this week. If nothing else, the younger years would clamour for something more fair and open to them.
But then Miss Granger wouldn't need it to. She and Mr Potter only needed to win once to send a message to all of Hogwarts and beyond, and from how well orchestrated this whole thing had been, Minerva didn't doubt they wouldn't try if they weren't sure they could.
That brought up the other thing Minerva had noticed. Somehow, no Hufflepuff team would meet with Miss Granger and Mr Potter's until the finals. She simply could not imagine that was coincidence.
Slytherins students willing and able to work across house lines were always so troublesome.
At that, Minerva massaged her temple as her thoughts returned to the official match. Her lions had been precisely weighed, carefully measured, and found severely wanting. The seven Hufflepuffs today, though undeniably talented, hadn't been the best team Miss Granger could have put together nor even a great team. No, they'd been a team just good enough to win with a comfortable margin of error. The scoring system incentivised that, true, but it still rankled.
At least this humiliation past and upcoming should motivate the students to take their defence classes seriously. Hogwarts had a lot of lost ground to make up in that department, and to Minerva's surprise, she'd heard good reports about Quirinus's lectures. She wouldn't have thought it of him when he'd taught muggle studies, but she wouldn't look a gift abraxan in the mouth.
Kallen had just finished her stretches when Jordan announced the first match of the doubles tournament. She had, of course, scheduled herself and Lelouch to take part in it to set the right tone for everything that followed. With one last roll of her shoulders and a minor adjustment to her unofficial Rounds uniform – it was comfortable, functional, and blended in well enough with the local aesthetic – she was set to take Hogwarts by storm.
"Harry, you ready?"
"I suppose so," Lelouch sighed. Even with a new body possessed of substantially improved constitution over his last, mostly because Andromeda had forced him to exercise as part of his recovery from his abuse, he still hated physical activity. "Do you have anything special in mind?"
Kallen waved the question off. "Nah. Just sit back and play defence for me if I need it." She doubted any schoolchildren could pose that much of a threat – not yet, at least – but she had ideas. "Oh. And don't kill steal when I go all shōnen."
That got a laugh out of Lelouch. She'd meant it, though. Personal power historically garnered a lot of respect in the magical world, so she intended to lean hard into the performance. She might lack the natural flamboyance her lover possessed, but once the adrenalin kicked in, it wouldn't be too hard to immerse herself in the act.
They said no more as they entered the arena. Ahead of them awaited a pair of seventh-year Ravenclaws who absolutely towered over them in height. Those two both looked a bit wary of their pint-sized opponents after watching Hufflepuff humiliate Gryffindor rather than insulted – or maybe it had something to do with the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing – but a little good sense wouldn't save them. While Kallen allowed that they probably possessed some substantial level of skill as conventional duellists, she could tell at a glance that neither had the training necessary to challenge the world's strongest knight.
Both teams bowed formally to each other as per tradition. Professor Flitwick then instructed them to turn about and march ten paces apart. Once they had, all four drew their wands, and Kallen took the opportunity to get a word in before he could start the duel.
"For what it's worth, I apologise in advance for what I'm about to do, but I need to conserve strength for my remaining matches. Being eleven sucks."
In some part of her mind, Tracey felt the popcorn in her hand slip through her fingers.
What?
Had that really just happened? Tracey blinked, but no, Granger still stood there with both of her opponents' wands clutched in her hand.
Tracey rubbed her eyes. She thought she'd seen Granger move. Maybe. One moment, the girl had been at her starting position; the next, she'd appeared in front of Mallory and plucked his wand right out of his hand. An instant later, she'd swiped Richardson's as well. She'd then popped back to where she'd begun and now awaited the official declaration of her victory.
How?
No one could apparate inside of Hogwarts's wards. That was simple fact. Portkeys had more wiggle room but couldn't be the answer either. Had Granger discovered an unblocked alternative or was she just that fast? This couldn't be the result of an illusion. Those took too long to set up. If mind magics had gotten involved, for whatever reason Granger would have had to target her audience as well as her opponents, Tracey would have surely felt the mental intrusion.
To top it all off, Tracey was fairly certain Granger hadn't uttered a single word the whole time, let alone an incantation. Silent spellcasting was NEWT material. Many, maybe even most, witches and wizards never learnt it.
Daphne swore under her breath.
Tracey tore her eyes off of Granger and asked, "What?"
"Granger," Daphne said. She produced a soft sigh. "Our Granger problem. Potter's a decent healer, and if she's this good…"
That was enough for Tracey to fill in the rest. Those two had readied themselves for serious fights to the death. Anything that could put Granger down would hit hard and fast. "Well, fuck," she said succinctly.
Daphne's lips twitched toward a smile before falling back into a flat line.
Meanwhile, an exuberant and ecstatic Professor Flitwick called the match once he overcame his own surprise. He and Granger exchanged a few words before he sent them and their spell-shocked opponents off. The next match started soon after, but Granger's was a hard act to follow. The others were decent duellists and all, but Tracey wanted to see what else the girl could do. She doubted she was alone in that.
It took far too long before she got her wish.
Kallen sized up the two Gryffindors before her. In their own match, they'd demonstrated an acceptable grasp of the basics. They did, at the very least, understand that mobility reigned supreme when a tiny little wand provided enough firepower to take down the Lancelot Albion if properly utilised.
In the back of her mind, she wondered if Suzaku and the insufferable geass Lelouch had put him under would have been able to keep up with her if she'd had the power to teleport back in the day. She assumed not, but his physical abilities were a load of bollocks, so who knew.
At any rate, Kallen waited patiently for Professor Flitwick to begin the duel. He instructed all participants to ready themselves and gave her a look when she waved him off – they would have a chat later, no doubt, from one warrior to another – but she was perfectly happy to leave her wand tucked conspicuously behind her ear. The handful of spells she could reliably cast wandlessly outside the immediate vicinity of a Thought Elevator would serve her perfectly well against schoolchildren.
Well, not Tonks, but she doesn't count. She graduated.
The duel began. The Gryffindor duo immediately cast a pair of front facing shields. Had Kallen the mind for it, she could have just stunned the fools from behind. She instead waited patiently with her hands clasped behind her back for them to do something productive. Productive for her, that was; Lelouch's initial rise to power during the Black Rebellion had taught her the value of theatrics. Regardless, she allowed that this was a marginally improved strategy for them.
The two Gryffindors, whose names Kallen had already forgotten, seemed satisfied that they'd foiled her plans, that she was some mere one-trick pony. But they had the good sense to leave one on defence while the other silently launched a rapid chain of spells at her. By the particular red colour, the lead spell looked to be a stunner. The others she was less certain of, but they hardly mattered. The first would suffice.
Kallen pushed magic into her hand and reached out for the stunner.
Tracey gaped and didn't care who saw as Granger snared a stupefy from the air and held it clasped within the confines of her fingers. The charm flared in protest but couldn't escape. The follow up spells, meanwhile, she swatted aside with a flick of her wrist like bugs.
Once done, she spared a moment to examine the bright spell held firmly in her grasp, said something to her opponents, and then vanished. She reappeared in a flash of light directly in front of one of the Gryffindors, and without missing a beat, punched his shield to shatter it. He, clearly not prepared for that, utterly failed to react when she then released his own stunner and knocked him out of the fight with it.
The other, shocked, went down soon after. Granger not-apparated behind him, however she did that, and stunned him properly. And just like that, it was over. Those poor Gryffindors, they'd never stood a chance.
Potter rubbed salt in the wound with a yawn. He'd not even moved.
"Merlin's beard," Tracey swore under her breath just before the Hufflepuff crowd burst into cheers. Everyone else followed after as soon as they pulled themselves together.
As they departed the arena side by side, Lelouch idly commented, "The Guren instilled a lot of bad habits into you."
"Yeah, yeah," Kallen said dismissively. She folded her arms behind her head. "Wandless aiming is hard, you know. It's a lot easier to just throw a punch."
Lelouch gave her that, not that he had much experience outside of a handful of utility spells. Wandless healing was a recipe for instant medical malpractice. Even so, there was a point to be made.
"Fine," Kallen said. "If it bothers you so much."
It would bother him a lot less if he couldn't so vividly imagine Kallen trying to punch the likes of Voldemort in the face. That would go about as well for her as had trying to stab Suzaku in the nude. He still couldn't believe she'd actually admitted to that in her book. He never would have known had she not.
"Apropos of nothing, did you ever meet Oldrin Zevon?"
It took a few moments before Lelouch recalled the name. Marrybell, the only one of his siblings to side with him of her own volition, had mentioned her former knight once just before the Zero Requiem with the same wistful fondness he'd held for Kallen. He hadn't enquired further. It hadn't been any of his business.
Strange that Kallen would bring her up now, though. When would they even have met?
The majority of the audience, Tracey included, chanted Granger's name or title as she strode into the arena with Potter at her side. Basking in the attention, she raised a hand high into the air and waved back to her new fans. Her Slytherin opponents looked like a witch and wizard condemned to the veil but, to their credit, stood ready to face the dragon.
Granger cracked her neck from side to side, rolled her shoulders, and only then deigned to draw her wand with an exaggerated flourish. Tracey got the distinct impression that Professor Flitwick rolled his eyes at her, but the match began immediately after.
The Slytherins burst into motion, determined not to be caught off guard. The wizard went on the offence. One by one in rapid succession, he transfigured a legion of animals of all sizes Granger would have to deal with individually. Slaying a wolf, for instance, required different tactics than eradicating a swarm of bees. As they spawned, he set them against Potter and Granger but kept a few pouncing animals in reserve as a guard against not-apparating witches.
Meanwhile, the Slytherin witch embarked upon a flurry of defensive magics which Tracey had no hope of following. Jordan and Professor McGonagall weren't much help, either, but she presumed that they were intended to keep Granger at bay. She could see a few layered shields at least and anticipated a number of nasty surprises supplementing them.
Without a word, Potter stepped forward to fend off the assault and proved without a doubt that he wasn't just there to fill out his team's necessary numbers. The first animal to approach, a snarling badger of all things, he cut down with a quick and efficient severing charm. The insect swarms he set on fire. When overwhelmed, he created barriers to keep the animals at bay. All the while, he deflected or blocked the occasional spell from the enemy team thrown at him. It had to be exhausting for someone his age, but he never flinched from the assault nor launched one of his own.
Granger ignored all this. Leaving the defence to Potter, she blasted a bit of stone free from the arena floor, selected a piece of rubble, and then transfigured it into a metal bar as long as her arm. She held her wand to it, and in sporadic bursts, symbols etched themselves upon its surface in an organised pattern. Tracey might never have studied the subject herself, but she could certainly recognise what Granger was doing.
They were runes.
A dizzying number of runes.
Granger was forging a bloody Morgan-cursed enchanted artifact from scratch in the middle of a battle.
Well, not entirely from scratch, Tracey thought upon reflection. Whatever Granger was making, it was too complex and coming together too quickly to not be something she'd planned out in advance; runic enchantments were nontrivial projects. She finished her work shortly and then layered additional transfigurations atop it. The bar elongated to form a handle and a–
Is that a sword!
It was! Scaled for her height, Granger held an arming sword in her hand with its runes buried beneath the surface of the blade. She gave it an experimental swing, made a few adjustments, and finally nodded to herself, satisfied.
The battle raged around Granger with Potter visibly flagging on the defence. Once their opponents had realised what she intended, they'd redoubled their efforts and put him through the gauntlet. But as she finished, they momentarily broke their attack to direct a nervous glance toward Professor Flitwick. To their obvious distress, he only watched on with undisguised interest. However unorthodox, nothing Granger had yet done, after all, broke the terms of engagement.
In that lull, Granger struck. Her sword ignited. Its ruby red flames licked up the blade and warped the air around it in a haze of hot air. When she moved, it was not in the instantaneous jumps she'd used before but in a blur. One swing split a lion in twain.
Before the lion's remains slumped to the arena floor, she was already upon a bear. She slipped past its massive claws and somehow flipped herself overhead. She sprung off of its withers with her free hand and, in one smooth motion, lopped off its head with her sword.
She then landed on her feet, snakes surrounding her. Not missing a beat, she swung her sword in a low circle. A wave of fire swept out around her like a skirt flaring in a dance and left only charred husks in its wake. Had the arena not been warded to keep stray magics in, the audience undoubtedly would have felt the heat.
Granger carved her way through the battlefield with grace, skill, and a ruthless efficiency. She didn't need help, obviously, but Potter protected her from whatever incoming spellfire she opted not to dodge throughout her bloody dance. Given how well they coordinated, there was no way they hadn't fought together for years rather than days.
Then a tense silence fell.
Surrounded by the mounting corpses of transfigured animals, Granger quenched her blade with a thought, flicked the gore from its blade, and at last turned her attention onto her true opponents.
She met their eyes.
She lowered her centre to dash forward.
Her sword flared with a blinding flash of light.
It was only once the her vision recovered that Tracey saw Granger had her currently non-flaming sword held pressed against the neck of the wizard opposite her.
Both Slytherins immediately surrendered.
Lelouch had known dozens of swordmasters over his life from the moment his mother gave birth to him to his last breath at the end of Suzaku's sword. Watching Kallen move through a series of forms, he could tell Zevon had taught her well in the modern Britannian knightly style. She was eleven years out of practise and it showed, but that wouldn't take long to correct if she put in the effort. And knowing her, she would if for no other reason than to someday maybe defeat C.C., a genuine old master of the art, in a duel.
The transfiguration expired before their next match came, owing to four Hufflepuffs exhausting themselves fighting tooth and nail over the privilege of losing to their captain in the finals. The sword reverted to rubble, and while Kallen wore a displeased frown, she didn't bother herself with producing a replacement.
"Does that sword have a name?" Lelouch asked once Kallen had settled in beside him to watch their upcoming competition.
She shrugged. "Mum and Dad settled on the Flaming Vorpal Sword of Greater Haste, I think. You'd have to ask them for the details. It has something like twenty minor enchantments on it to make it actually work."
There was a distinct, sharp inhale of breath from someone eavesdropping nearby. The bottleneck with runic enchantments, as Lelouch understood the subject, came in arranging the runes to get them to all work together constructively. It was an NP-Complete problem; the number crunching required for Kallen's sword would take a master craftsman a lifetime to complete. Truly, the sword constituted a rune crafter's magnum opus.
It'd probably taken the piece of junk the Grangers called a state of the art computer a long weekend to find a functional setup for a LARP prop.
The next match had Tracey squirming in her seat in anticipation for every moment of the five agonisingly long minutes allowed for the competitors to rest and prepare. Granger would win, obviously, but she'd be duelling fellow Hufflepuffs. They'd had a week of her training to show off. The finals were going to be spectacular!
"If I didn't know better," Daphne said knowingly, "I'd think you have a crush."
Tracey's gut reaction was to deny it. It wasn't true. Certainly not! But she knew how well that had gone for Daphne after their first defence class with Professor Quirrell. This was so obviously revenge. So she did the Slytherin thing and sighed dreamily. "Maybe I do," she said in her best impression of a lovesick witch thinking of the Boy-Who-Lived.
Oddly, Daphne only frowned and disengaged from the conversation with a slight harrumph. She didn't usually admit defeat so easily.
But before Tracey could dissect that reaction, Jordan and Professor McGonagall announced the final match of the exhibition tournament, and her attention for anything but vanished in an instant. It was Granger (and Potter) against two sixth-year Hufflepuff witches. She stood with her arms folded, a proud smirk on her face, and her captain's cape undulating gently in the late summer breeze at the arena centre awaiting her victorious pupils come to challenge the master.
The latter pair had an eager energy about them uncharacteristic of Granger's prior opponents as they approached her. They were going to lose. They knew it. And like the quintessential Hufflepuff, they were going to have fun with it anyway.
"Well done reaching the finals," Granger said, apparently having worked herself into the PA system for this final bout. "We've only had a short time together, but you've already shown substantial progress. If you continue on this path, you might grow strong enough to challenge the professional duelling circuit."
The two Hufflepuff witches opposite her bowed and chorused, "Thank you, Sensei."
A wide grin split Tracey's face as she realised Granger ran her team like a dojo. Everyone knew that the best duellists journeyed to the far east to learn from the great masters of martial arts at some point in their lives. No one wanted to lose their wand to a simple scuffle. It certainly explained a tiny fraction of Hermione Granger if she'd spent some time there.
"Now then." Granger closed her eyes and visibly breathed. She then drew her wand and flung her free arm out, causing her cape to flare. The crack it made when it caught the air might as well have been a thunderclap as she roared, "Come at me with your full power! Show Hogwarts what it means to strive for excellence!"
Professor Flitwick's official start of the duel became a mere formality as the three witches locked wands.
To Tracey's great shock, Granger had taught her not-apparition trick to her opponents. That they required a wand to pull it off proved hindering, but with two wands to her one, they alternated between movement and offence in near perfect coordination to unleash a barrage of magic.
Spells flew everywhere in multiple flashes of colour. All three rarely bothered with shields when they could just dodge or swat spells aside. Tracey thought Granger managed to deflect her own stunner at one of her students' backs, resulting in a hair's breadth evasion, and then again for a third go, which had to be shielded outright, but the entire spectacle was impossible for her to follow. They just moved too fast to know for sure, Granger especially. That girl left afterimages. After every jump she made, she immediately cast a bright spell that somehow seared herself into any onlooker's eyes.
Then Granger vanished entirely.
The older Hufflepuffs cleaved together, back-to-back, and scanned the arena for their missing captain. When their spells turned up nothing, one glanced warily at Potter standing politely out of the way, but his face was a mask of stone and gave nothing away.
Without warning, a jet of water crashed into one of the Hufflepuffs from above. The blow sent her careening into the ground, and Tracey winced at the air-splitting crack of bones breaking.
Distracted, the other Hufflepuff fell to Granger a moment later from an overhead stunner.
Granger herself, having not-apparated high above, arrested her own momentum and landed lightly on the arena floor while Potter tended to the injured.
The reaction was explosive. Before the match was even officially called, Tracey leapt to her feet, cheering and clapping. She'd hardly acted alone, either. That had been the most impressive, fastest paced, and highest skilled duel she'd ever witnessed.
Down in the arena, Potter had gotten the injured Hufflepuff sitting upright and cognisant enough to talk. All four duellists shared a few words with each other while their audience further worked themselves into a frenzy.
After a time, Granger held up a hand and cast her voice to the PA system again to call for quiet. She demonstrated considerable patience as she waited for it, and once she had it, she said, "Good afternoon, Hogwarts. I hope today has opened a few eyes."
Oh, it certainly had. Tracey had thought herself an above average duellist for her age, and while that might be true, that clearly meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. There were people so far beyond her as she was that she might as well be helpless and useless.
"The lesson I intend for you to take away today is not that I'm a peerless warrior and an aberration. I'm good, but that's not the point. Today, Hufflepuff demolished Gryffindor. No doubles Hufflepuff team lost to a team not from Hufflepuff, nevermind Harry here. I had not even a week to teach my badgers to fight on the level on display today. We are not aberrations. All of you can reach for the stars. No matter your goal, it only takes patience, hard work, and determination. You know, Hufflepuff virtues."
Well, that was certainly something for everyone to think about.
"In two weeks, Hufflepuff will take on Slytherin. I will fill the seventh-year slot as our anchor. Train hard. Fight smart."
Tracey knew what she needed to do.
Everything that she'd done to come to this point, Kallen regretted. She leant slumped over onto her library table, head pressed into a book, wondering what she could have done differently.
The sound of footsteps drew near, and it was Lelouch's amused voice that greeted her.
Kallen groaned, "Don't." She didn't want to hear it.
"Don't what?" Lelouch asked with feigned aloofness. Oh, how she loathed him when he got like that. She could feel the smirk behind those words.
"You of all people should be squicked out," Kallen muttered.
Lelouch chuckled as he sat. "Perhaps, but there's a certain irresistible irony to it."
Kallen raised her head an inch just to let it bang back down against the pages of her book.
"It's your own fault, really. You use light tricks too freely."
It was hardly her fault she knew how the human eye worked! She'd needed to know those sorts of things to pilot knightmares optimally, especially the Guren SEITEN. Knowing what information she could rely on her eyes to provide could mean the difference between death and a mere brush with it. Besides, almost no one bothered to protect their eyes properly from such nonmagical exploits!
"Regardless," Lelouch continued, "someone was bound to know the literal translation of shunpo. Had you left it at that, you might not have had a problem."
Since they day he'd died, Kallen had never once uttered a word against her brother, but she had a few choice things to say right now about infecting her with his anime addiction.
"At any rate, it's a fine epithet, Your Majesty."
Here it comes…
"Or should I say Hermione the Flash?"
Kallen groaned.
Word had it that Hufflepuff threw the best parties. As no one had seen hide nor hair of the vast majority of the house the night before, Tracey believed it. Not that they had much competition. The Ravenclaws were a bunch of bookworms. The Gryffindors, well, they had nothing to celebrate right now, now did they? And Slytherin, no matter how much house pride Tracey might have had, were the sort who threw formal balls and attended charity auctions: adequate on occasion but hardly what she would call a good time.
At any rate, Tracey hadn't had a chance to speak with Captain Granger last night for obvious reasons. This morning would be different. Why? Well, she'd only just spotted said witch out of the corner of her eye, of course! Granger was alone, too, and wandering about the dungeons for some reason. She'd come from the Hufflepuff dorms, certainly, but she'd gone down an unused corridor that led away from breakfast in the Great Hall. This was the perfect chance!
"Daph, you go on without me. I'll meet up with you later, okay?"
The lifeless moan Daphne made in response as she shuffled along Tracey interpreted as acknowledgement.
With that settled, Tracey chased after Granger. Not finding the girl in the corridor, she resorted to opening doors and peering inside. She had no idea what they otherwise contained – a bunch of storage and potion brewing rooms, it looked like – but one would hopefully yield a duelling master.
Tracey had checked nearly every room when she watched Granger emerge from behind, of all things, a painting of a bowl of fruit that stretched from floor to ceiling. She carried a plate overloaded with toast in one hand and had the other occupied with a goblet.
"Oh, Davis. Morning. Looking for the kitchens?"
"No," Tracey said, "but while I'm here…" A few slices of toast did sound good, and she'd probably miss breakfast if her talk with Granger ran long.
Granger kicked the painting back open with her foot and stepped aside in invitation. A short while and an encounter with a very excitable horde of house-elves later, Tracey found herself with a similarly-sized stack of toast and a goblet of pumpkin juice.
"So? No Greengrass today?"
"Ah, no." Now that the moment had actually come, Tracey found herself staring down at her toast. She didn't have a plan. She didn't have any reason for Granger to help her. They weren't even friends yet. "I, uh, wanted to talk to you."
Granger didn't seem terribly surprised. "How are you at potions?" she asked.
"Potions?" Where had that come from? "Okay, I guess? Daphne's better."
"Eh, no matter," Granger said dismissively and gestured to followed her. "We'll not be brewing anything difficult. Someone smuggled in a few bottles of firewhisky last night. I volunteered to make a couple cauldrons of hangover cure." With a chuckle, she added, "I may have also made something of a point about responsible drinking. There will be a price for this."
Tracey's laughter nearly made her spill her goblet. "You are in the wrong house, Granger."
"Nah," Granger drawled out. "The hat and I hashed that out for a while, you know."
There was that. No one had forgotten that Granger was a Hatstall despite winding up in Hufflepuff. "Not like Potter," Tracey commented.
Granger blew an amused puff of air past her lips. "Yeah, Harry. The only thing surprising about that is that the hat had to touch his head instead of screaming Slytherin over and over the moment he entered the Great Hall. Anyway, I'm set up in here. Come on in."
With their hands occupied, Granger kicked the door open with a foot. Inside was a personal potion brewing lab with two bubbling cauldrons on the centre island, each sitting above a low flame. A small pile of ingredients made its home between them. It was all very bare bones, but it worked when space was all that was needed.
"How did you get this room?"
Granger shrugged as she set her breakfast down on a nearby workbench. "Hogwarts offers these study rooms to its students. Each subject has specialised facilities. They drift around, but you can generally find them near the relevant classrooms." To Tracey's questioning look, she added, "Read it in Hogwarts: A History. Dry reading, I know, but useful. So long as no one's fighting over them, no one cares about scheduling."
"I'll take your word for it." Tracey supposed she should mention it to Daphne later, but right now, she was far more interested in her toast. The creamy smell of melted butter was killing her.
"Right then," Granger said as she clapped her hands together. "Here's the deal. You take one cauldron and do what I do. I'm sure I know what this is about, so I'll hear you out while we work."
Nervous, Tracey took up her position on the opposite cauldron. She wasn't sure if this made things easier or harder. Regardless, she followed every instruction Granger gave her as precisely as she could. Since she hadn't been thrown out for incompetence yet despite never having brewed this potion before, she assumed she was doing well.
A lull came in their work as they let their cauldrons simmer. Granger grabbed a slice of her toast, asked, "So? What brings you to my lab?" and then bit into her breakfast.
Tracey gulped. She needed to sound confident. "I want you to teach me how to duel." And that hadn't come out well, had it? She couldn't just command Granger to do anything and expect to get it. "Please?"
"I figured," Granger said. "Do you know how many times someone has already asked me that?"
Probably half the school… Maybe this had been a bad idea, or at least the wrong time to ask.
"I've had well over a dozen NEWT students alone set aside their pride to beg me to help them pass their exams so they can go on to become an auror, or a professional duellist, or what have you. They all asked for a significant investment of my time, more than I could possibly give. I do intend to organise a semi-formal lecture series. Harry would never let me hear the end of it if I passed up an opportunity like that. You're free to sit in on them, if you want, but I'm not your defence professor. I'm not your private tutor. My obligations begin and end with the Hufflepuff duelling team, and even that is mostly administrative."
Tracey pursed her lips. "So that's a no, then?" She'd really made a total cock-up of this.
But Granger shook her head. "No, I'll give you the same chance I gave everyone else. Why you?"
"Really!" I have a chance! I can still do this! "Well, you should because Daphne…"
A moment passed, and Granger silently arched her brow.
This presented something of a dilemma. Tracey needed to become stronger to deal with all the horrible things Daphne foresaw in the future, but how did she convince Granger of that without explaining why the need was so pressing? Especially since they didn't always end up on the same side as Potter. But then that usually only happened when he become a horrible monster worse than Voldemort, and Granger didn't seem the type to go for monsters.
And now that she'd brought it back full circle to the witch in question, Tracey had an idea. "Well…" she began slowly, intending to be much more deliberate with her words than usual lest she screw everything up again. "Daphne and I want to help keep you safe. She's really good at the sneaky snake stuff, and, well, I could be better at the whole…" What was the right way to put this? "–smiting the unworthy wretches who would dare strike at you."
Granger cracked a smile but visibly swallowed her laughter. "That appeal to my ego somewhat defeats your own argument, does it not?"
It did, didn't it? "Well, it's not like you have eyes in the back of your head."
A moment passed in silence.
Tracey shifted in place. "Um… You, uh, don't, do you?"
At that, Granger finally cracked. "No," she said, fighting off her lingering giggles, "but I wouldn't recommend trying to shoot me in the back regardless. At any rate, I don't need a bodyguard. That's a new one, I admit, but not interested."
Except she actually really, really did need someone to look out for her, and Tracey didn't have a way to just tell her that without outing Daphne. This was so frustrating! She'd just have to try a different tack.
"You know the magical world's recent history, right?"
In hindsight, that was obvious from her speech to kick off the duelling club, but Granger still nodded.
"Then you know there's another war brewing. We're probably going to end up fighting together, so–"
Granger cut Tracey off. "You do not want to become a child soldier, Davis." She grit her teeth but maintained unbroken eye contact and a hard look that Tracey struggled not to flinch away from. "I've had the misfortune to meet child soldiers." A moment later, she added, "And to watch them die."
Tracey's eyes widened. "What? Who? Where?" The questions came in rapid succession before she stopped to think, and thus she stuck her foot in her mouth again. Why was she so bad at this? She should have brought Daphne along. "Sorry. I just… Sorry." She dug a hand underneath her hair and grasped her scalp. How did she recover from this?
"It's fine," Granger said tersely.
The tension mounted as the two went through the next steps of brewing their potions. A few ingredients needed dicing or cutting, and then they tossed them into the cauldron with a delayed widdershins stir-and-a-quarter. Granger remained all business, but she didn't exactly hide that Tracey had managed to get under her skin, either.
When they finished and left the cauldrons to bubble once more, Granger said, "Look. I have a good radar for bullshite."
"A what?" Tracey asked before she could help herself.
That made Granger roll her eyes. "Muggle term. Don't worry about it. The point is, life with Harry has thoroughly trained me to spot lies, half-truths, twisty plots, you name it. I can tell you're not telling me something. This is your pitch, so that's fine, but I will keep any confidences you share with me. I'm very good with secrets, and everyone knows I'm an occlumens."
Tracey bit her lip. "I…can't." She would, because Granger sounded sincere; however, Daphne's secrets weren't hers. "But… Daphne…"
As Tracey floundered, Granger's face melted into a concerned expression. "Davis–" She shook her head. "Tracey, is there something wrong? If Greengrass is in trouble, I can help. Or…if she's holding something over you…"
"She would never!" How could Granger even suggest something like that?
Granger held her hands up in a gesture of peace. "I had to ask. I didn't think so, but I don't know you two very well."
That's…fair, Tracey begrudgingly allowed. "Daphne is my best friend."
"I believe you," Granger insisted. "So? Do you want to tell me what this is really about, then?"
Tracey gnawed on the inside of her lip. How much trust was she willing to invest in Granger? Daphne had warmed up to Potter, and while that was strange and worrying, she was better about these sorts of things. And Potter and Granger came as a pair in practically everything. Maybe it would be okay to let a few things slip. Maybe.
"Daphne is my best friend," Tracey restated. "We met in nappies, and that was it. We did everything together. Stupid things babies do, story time, learning to read, running around for no reason, everything. Then she got…sick." To Granger's arched eyebrows, she added, "She doesn't like to talk about it. Please don't ask. But has Potter mentioned that she doesn't sleep well?"
"He has not," Granger replied.
The answer let some of the tension bleed out of Tracey's frame. If those two didn't even gossip together, just the two of them, then it was probably safe to tell Granger more. "Well, she doesn't. Nothing helps, not even muggle stuff. She's constantly fatigued. She tires easily. She's…fragile. Not weak! She's terrifying in a mood. But a stiff breeze could knock her over."
"You have no idea how much I empathise," Granger muttered. Before Tracey could ask, however, she said, "Go on."
Setting Granger's mutterings aside, Tracey did just that. "She's brilliant, you know. She was taught politics, and magic, and how to talk, and logic, and all sorts of boring adult stuff from the crib. I mean, I was, too, but she's so much smarter than me. She got into Slytherin for all the right reasons. Actually, sometimes I wonder if her parents, you know, did something to her. Nothing bad, but, well, she's really very clever. The Greengrasses have a huge library of rituals and potions."
Slowly, Granger said, "I would not discount the possibility." She tapped her fingers along their workbench in sequence. "A few ideas come to mind. Harmless, in theory. Although I'm not sure about their long-term benefits. Or consequences. If it's possible, it wouldn't surprise me if powerful, long-standing magical families engage in the practice and keep it to themselves. But natural statistical outliers do exist. Regardless, your point?"
"My point? She's brilliant, clever, crafty, wealthy, fragile, and very much on the wrong side. Well, the right side, but you know what I mean. She's the sort of blood traitor in our parents' stories who You-Know-Who liked to make an example of. She doesn't really like the progressives either for, well, a lot of reasons, but I can usually boil her griping down to something along the lines of 'they're idiots'."
Granger chuckled and didn't disagree.
"So…yeah. It's the whole world against one sickly little girl. And me."
With a sigh, Granger set aside the remains of her breakfast. "Why are you not in Hufflepuff?"
Tracey, smiling, said, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Not really," Granger replied dismissively. "Look, I know I'm going to make an arse of myself for denying the Power of Friendship, but you're too young to make that sort of commitment."
Tracey protested, "I am not!" which might not have been her best comeback ever.
"No, you really are."
As she ground her teeth, Tracey searched for a proper response. And she found one. "Well, if I am, then what about you and Potter, huh? Everyone with eyes can tell you two are a thing."
Granger sucked in a heavy breath through her nose and then let it all out in a huff. "Shooting myself in the foot," she muttered. "War is not an adventure, Davis, especially not the mess of war crimes that passes for it in the magical world."
"I know that." She did! Tracey tried her best to banish Granger's sceptical look to no success, so she tried a different approach. "Daphne means everything to me. She's the prodigy. A princess in all but name. My princess!" From the mumblings of the other muggleborn at Hogwarts, she knew Granger had a weakness for that sort of thing. "I'm just her friend. I want to be able to protect her. It's the only thing I'm really good at. Please."
Granger heaved an exasperated sigh. "Really shooting myself in the foot," she muttered again. "Fine." Before Tracey could celebrate, she stipulated a condition not of training but of acceptance. "Convince me why, ten years from now, older and wiser, you won't regret swearing yourself to your liege."
"But…why would I?"
"Why wouldn't you?" Granger shrugged. "The best of friends drift apart all the time. Even marriages fall apart."
Without a hint of doubt, Tracey said, "Daphne and I won't."
"Words. Nothing but words."
Tracey, fists clenched, said, "Well, I can't very well wait ten years to prove it!"
"That would defeat the purpose," Granger observed.
"Shouldn't me seeking out training count?" Tracey went with next.
Granger, in turn, replied, "Only now?"
"No," Tracey said. "If not for you, I would crush everyone in our year in a duel."
Visibly unimpressed, Granger retorted, "That's not saying much. New students aren't supposed to know anything."
"And second years, at least," Tracey added.
"Better," Granger allowed, "but hardly convincing. Anyone can get ahead with a little practice here and there."
And that was the last straw. "I heard a prophecy, okay!" Tracey snapped.
A moment passed.
Granger's very genuine shock slowly faded as she took in the information.
And Tracey realised just how badly she'd blown it. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Her hands burrowed beneath her hair and furiously rubbed against her head as she screamed at herself. "Please, please, please don't tell anyone!"
"Well," came Granger's cautious reply, "as far as I know, it's no one's business but your own. No unconditional promises, but I did agree to keep your confidences." A second after Tracey breathed a sigh of relief, she asked, "You didn't hear it from the fraud in the tower, did you?"
"What?" Tracey blinked. "Oh, Professor Trelawney? No. Merlin's sleeve, no."
"Good. What does this prophecy say, then?"
That gave Tracey pause. Daphne didn't give out traditional, unalterable, unerring prophecies. She didn't even babble cryptic nonsense to spin as a proper prophecy. How did one dodge the question here?
"I…would rather not say," Tracey went with. It was private, after all. "But Daphne and I are friends until the end."
"The end or your end?"
Tracey, perhaps wisely, pursed her lips and said nothing. It varied, but if only one of them died, Daphne always outlived her. That was the best she could offer whenever she came up short.
Rather than answer, Granger tersely guided Tracey through the last steps of their brewing. It wasn't much, just one last ingredient and a few stirs that turned the potions a bubblegum pink colour. She snuffed the fires with a silent wave of her wand and then pulled several dozen vials from an undetectable extension charm affixed to a bag she pulled out of her robes. One by one, they bottled and corked each dose, and she stored them away back into her bag.
At long last, Granger relented. "Fine."
Tracey's grin split her face. "Really?"
"Yes, really," Granger sighed. "We'll start tomorrow after classes."
Unable to help herself, Tracey leapt and cried, "Yes!"
A/N: A Tracey chapter, more or less, and a frustratingly difficult one to write. The next one will be a mixed chapter. After that: Neville.
I intend to write the next arc of KSCoB next, so the next update here will be a while coming.
Behold! A shameless self-promotion! I have a Patrreon account under the username Forthwith if you want to support my writing in general.
