Song Suggestion: Florence + The Machine– "King" … This might as well be a theme song for this fic.

Thank you to MyPrivateInsanity. She worked really hard editing this chapter!

Stealing the Sword

Hermione didn't remember going home. Her thoughts uprooted, causing a sharp headache. She couldn't stop thinking of Viktor's body hitting the floor, his head rolling toward her.

The Butcher.

She imagined body parts strewn across the streets of Manchester, concrete stained with blood. Did he loop the intestine along the streetlights? Did he place their heads in strategic positions for their loved ones to view?

Fifty-two men and women. It probably smelled terribly, reeking from prolonged decay.

"Sprite—"

He attempted to grab her hand in the foyer, but she sharply pulled away, twisted, and hit him hard across the cheek with a closed fist, exactly how Theo taught her. Her whole arm tingled with the force after.

Beyond flinching with the pain, he didn't react, except to grab both her shoulders and drag her toward him. Pink bloomed where she'd struck.

"What the fuck was that for?"

Was he a complete idiot?

"He didn't need to die!"

Titus narrowed his eyes. "Do you think I did that on a whim, because I felt like it?"

She shook in his hold.

"I certainly think you enjoyed it."

"I couldn't risk Krum winning another Trial. You're delusional if you think Malfoy wouldn't have done the same, given the chance. And if he hadn't, Lucius certainly would have."

Maybe that was true. Draco hadn't seemed surprised at the death. She shrugged off his hands and stepped away.

Hermione suddenly felt very tired. All of her anger deflated at once. She understood it was a by-product of shock, her mind attempting to make sense of what she'd seen.

Titus followed her as she stumbled to her room. Not having the energy for a shower, she used a quick scourgify on herself, then collapsed into bed, pulling the covers up and facing the wall. Crooks jumped up, as if knowing she needed him, curling against her chest and purring.

How could a person just be— gone?

Titus lingered in her doorway.

"I was impressed with your duelling." He hesitated, as if trying to figure out what to say. "I'm not going to interrogate you today, though I should—especially since you tried to bloody blind me, though maybe you didn't realise the severity of the spell. When this is all over, I'm going to need to know where you learned—"

"Theo will hate you even more after this. Viktor was his favourite."

The silence lay heavy in the room. She didn't ask if she could see Theo, though she wanted to desperately. She knew he'd be banned from the manor until after the Trials.

"Let me deal with Theo."

"Go away."

"Sprite— I'm sorry you had to see that. If I—" His voice sounded strained. "If it was allowed, I'd marry you in the old way without the need for the Trials."

"Maybe I needed to see that."

She still refused to look at him, eyes on the wall.

"I'm going to ask you a question, and I want a serious answer. Do you— do you think you could be happy with me?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Will it change anything for you?"

He didn't answer, but she could guess. He'd already made up his mind that he wouldn't let her go.

Could she be happy?

At one point, when her world had been smaller, she'd loved the manor. There was a chance that she could find contentment again.

And her other duties? Sleeping with Titus would be no hardship. If their shared time in bed were any indication, the physical aspect wouldn't be an issue.

But truly happy? That was harder to answer. Hermione was beginning to understand that love wasn't enough for happiness. Titus would keep her entertained as much as possible, paying for lessons or outings. But any real ambition would be stamped out. She'd never get to be anything besides his.

"Maybe."

He sighed.

"I know this is hard for you. After this is over, I plan to court you properly."

He waited for her reply, but she took her time. Every time she tried to speak, nothing came out.

Her acceptance of him was the only thing left in her control. She was afraid that if she gave up and let herself fall into his arms, she'd break with the landing. There would be nothing left of the old Hermione— the one who loved the life she'd had, with an endless future in front of her. She might as well be poured into the foundation of the manor, forever entombed.

"I'll leave you alone to think, but— if it means anything, I'll do anything in my power to give you a wonderful life. Full of love and joy and— I guess we can talk about this later. Get some sleep." One click of the Nott ring against the wood, and she heard him leave.

Titus had been her hero for so long. She'd thought of him like a dragon knight, swooping down to save her from the jaws of men like Lucius Malfoy. Even now, she didn't fear him like other people did. He'd never physically hurt her. But another side lurked inside him, one he'd kept well hidden from her. It peeked through when he'd tortured Blaise and killed Viktor. The red light had lit up his features, twisted in a deviant pleasure from winning, from killing.

Titus was a man bred for war— conceived for bloodied swords, battle cries, and the carrion crows that came after. His body had been sculpted from the stones of the ancient, cruel gods. The universe stamped its rare blessing on his brow and gave him the determination to see it through.

He'd have ruled the world no matter what situation he'd been born into, and he wanted her by his side as his queen.

But it wouldn't be as an equal. She knew this now. He wanted to clip her wings to keep her from flying away. He desired a constant companion— an outlet for all of the love he never gave anyone else.

He didn't recognize she'd outgrown her cage long ago, and the bars chafed against her skin.

She didn't want to spend her life on her knees in supplication to the god of war.

She wanted to hold her own sword.

And the only way she could see that happening was if she stood up, stole the sword, and became a god herself.


She'd skipped dinner the night before, so she woke up early to eat breakfast in the kitchens. Bitty fixed a full English breakfast, but she only ate the eggs and toast.

By the time she finished eating and got dressed in the same, now cleaned, fitted clothes, it was time to go.

Like the day before, Titus leaned against the fireplace, waiting for her.

"Your hair," he reminded, giving a soft smile.

"Oh." She'd been in such a hurry she'd forgotten. Titus watched as she braided it the best she could.

She blew a rogue curl from her face.

"Ready?" He asked.

No, she wanted to say, but instead she nodded her agreement.


The ministry was as cold as the day before.

"They really need to invest in better heating charms," she whispered as they entered.

Her good mood vanished. With a full night's sleep and a decent breakfast, she'd almost forgotten. But trauma never vanished. It lingered along the spine in a place she couldn't reach, making her believe it disappeared, and then, when she least expected it, the trauma crawled around and latched its claws into her heart and mind.

She could still hear the squelching sound of the rolling head. The thump of a corpse came next—a person that had smiled at her warmly not long before. The monster in her mind took control of her body. She shivered, hands trembling so badly she almost dropped her wand.

Give my condolences to the Krum family.

She focused on each expansion of her lungs.

When she finally came around, the black spots vanishing from her vision, she saw Draco had already entered and now stood near the seated overseers.

Her panic attack had attracted the attention of everyone in the room. Again, Dolohov studied her as he would inspect a cow, as if checking for good teeth and correct build. She withheld the sneer she wanted to give him. Snape still seemed constipated. Goyle Sr. gave her one glance and then focused on something else. She thought she might have detected pity in it. Macnair leered at her much like Rosier had at Goyle's party, though he attempted to hide it better. Maybe because the threat of Titus stood right next to her, staring at her in concern. He'd been waiting for her to recover. One hand clenched his wand. The other grabbed the side of his trousers, as if to stop himself from reaching out to her.

"Nott," Macnair warned. "The Trial needs to begin soon."

Titus threw him a hostile look.

"We aren't starting until Hermione's ready." He put his concentration back on Hermione. "Are you okay, Sprite? You worry me when you're like that."

She hated that panic was her response to shocking things. Hated how her body forgot to breathe, rendering her vulnerable. She hated that Draco, Titus, and the overseers had witnessed it.

And really, it was Titus' fault she was panicking. He wasn't allowed to worry about her if he caused it.

"I'm fine," Hermione bit out.

She most definitely wasn't fine. Her chest still ached, but she stepped forward, walking toward the overseers.

You can do this, she chanted to herself.

She chanced a glance at Malfoy, giving herself a moment to study his confident stance. She wondered if he'd trained for the Trials. Did he practise duelling and flying? She bet he had. He was staring right back at her, mercury eyes flashing in the muted light, and it looked as if he was trying to communicate something to her, though she had no idea what that could be.

He mouthed something. She concentrated on his lips.

Our date, she thought he said.

"What challenge have you selected for the third Trial?" Snape asked Draco.

His stare never left Hermione. They roved over her face, and then he smirked, reminding her of his expression in the glade when he'd watched her cum on his hand— as if he'd won something.

"Riddles and puzzles."


Hermione watched as three box-like structures were assembled, situated a fair distance from each other. Each of them seemed the exact same inside— a classroom from what she could tell—though the rest of the contents of the room weren't visible once they enclosed them.

When the structures were finished being built by several ministry elves, the overseers called the contestants to the center.

Hermione wondered if Titus used any favours for this Trial. How expensive had Viktor's death been?

A Sphinx sat in front of the overseers. It had the head of a human, with a magnificent mane of white hair, but the regal body of a lion. It wasn't a real one, just an illusion, but she still somehow felt as though its eyes followed her.

"You will be given a riddle," Snape began, while standing back up to address them. "When the bell rings, you will then enter your rooms, and the door will lock behind you. The key to getting out will be hidden within. Solving the riddle will lead to the first clue, which will lead to the second, and so on. Whoever manages to first exit their respective room will win the third Trial. As with the other contests, you can back out and concede defeat at any time—"

Draco scoffed, and Snape narrowed his eyes on his godson for interrupting him, giving him a glare that must have terrified the students at Hogwarts.

"As I was saying," Snape said with a threatening drawl. "A contestant can concede defeat at any time. Magic is allowed within the confines of your individual rooms, though I will warn that alohamora will not work on the doors." He looked around for questions, but no one said a thing. If anything, both Titus and Draco gripped their wands with more determination. And Hermione did too. Unlike the other two challenges, she had a chance to win this one. She hated flying, so she naturally was terrible at it. She hadn't been trained enough in duelling, despite all of her practice, especially to win a real fight against Titus or Draco.

But this— when it came to her intelligence, she was their equal. Neither Titus nor Draco were stupid. Titus had to be intelligent for his line of work, and Draco had demonstrated his cleverness several times. Despite that, she felt confident that she was smart enough to go up against them.

But that also meant Draco chose something she might beat him at.

She didn't know what to do with that thought.

The hair along her arms stood up as the Sphinx uncurled its legs, tail swishing behind it.

When it opened its mouth, a voice boomed around the room.

"I am only one colour, but not one in size. Stuck at the bottom, yet I easily fly. Present in the sun, but not in the rain. Doing no harm, and feeling no pain. What am I?"

As soon as it finished speaking, it curled back down, sitting like the statues in Ancient Egypt. And then the illusion disintegrated back into the floor, its part in the Trial over.

Hermione chanced a glance at Titus. He was mumbling the words under his breath, eyes unfocused as if filtering through the library in his mind. Draco looked unbothered, as always, twirling his wand between his fingers. When their eyes caught, he grinned.

"It is now time for the contestants to find a room. Do not attempt to enter until the bell sounds," Snape reminded.

Hermione went over the riddle in her mind as she walked to the structures. She dismantled the Sphinx's words, pulling them apart, but her mind was racing too much to focus.

Draco and Titus allowed her to take the center structure, while they travelled further down to each end. She stared at the door handle as she stood in front of it, as if she could find the answer written along the metal.

The adrenaline spiked along her body. Much like magic, it felt like it concentrated its energy on her feet and her toes, readying her to spring forward.

Think, Hermione chanted, think. She imagined unrolling a scroll, showing a list of everything it could be, crossing the items off as she went. One line kept snagging her attention—present in the sun, but not in the rain.

It felt more literal than the others.

The bell rang, vibrating her bones with the loud noise.

She lunged, grabbing the door handle and yanking open the door, throwing herself inside with excitement. Before the door even closed behind her, she'd solved the riddle:

A shadow.

It appeared in the sun and disappeared in the rain. It was the same colour, but it did change size. Felt no pain. Did no harm. Everything fit. The more she thought about it, the more she felt confident in her deduction.

She'd solved the first clue, though she knew the riddle itself might not be the real problem to solve.

The door clicked behind her, locking her inside.

Hermione let herself take one giant, calming breath, pushing it out through her nose, before examining her space. The room was a giant puzzle. Each thing could be a clue, a red herring, or nothing. She doubted anything would be obvious.

As she'd thought, it resembled a normal classroom. One wall had a blackboard on it. Portraits sneered at her from the walls. She suspected the overseers could examine her through them. A small bookshelf with typical school books was on the wall opposite the blackboard. Several plants perched in various locations, including a potted Wiggentree. Instead of desks, there was a rectangular table. Resting on top was a quill and ink pot, a closed chess set, empty rolls of parchment. Some scattered sheets of parchment had writing on them half-finished, as if a student had stopped mid-sentence.

She read two of them. One was a poem. The other was a collection of spells that didn't make any sense.

Hermione sat in a chair to think. Allowing panic to take over wouldn't do her any good. She needed a clear head and mind.

A shadow.

She stood back up and calmly walked around the room. After the third lap, an idea came to her.

She'd been looking for shadows, but there weren't any big ones that she could see…. Which meant she needed to create one.

With a flick of her wrist, she turned off the light from above and extinguished the two candles. She gripped her wand and lifted it up.

"Lumos." The tip of her wand glowed bright, and she twisted it around the room, letting the objects cast shadows on the wall. She examined everything, tamping down her frustration when she found nothing.

Until the light hit the Wiggentree.

Hermione stopped in her tracks. In the end, riddles and puzzles were just pattern recognition. A person discovered—sometimes instinctively— when something either matched… or when something didn't match.

The tangled shadow left by the potted tree on the bare wall caught her attention.

If she'd never studied basic ancient runes, she'd have never found it. But her years of obsessive self-education finally paid off. In the center of the shadow, curled into the tree limbs and leaves, was the rune of Ansuz. It resembled a tilted F. The more she looked at it, the more unmistakable it seemed.

She'd found another clue.

Hermione called out "nox," then turned on the room light. She took a seat at the table, picked up quill and parchment, and wrote down everything she could remember about the rune.

It represented a divine message— good advice, communication, wisdom, inspiration. Its merkstave—or its reverse—represented manipulation and deceit.

She rolled the words around in her head until the meaning became clear.

The rune was pointing to either a book or a poem— possibly. There was a lesson written on the blackboard. It could be that, but it felt too obvious.

"A message".

She went to the bookshelf first. It held ten books of various titles. She flipped through each, but nothing stuck out.

Then she went to the table, which held the scattered papers— as if a student had gotten up in a hurry, leaving the work half done. She couldn't discern the subject of the class from what was written on the parchments. It almost overwhelmed her, but she didn't let the feeling get to her. The answer was here. She just needed to pay attention.

She pulled the scattered parchments into a single pile, and went through them one by one, putting aside anything that didn't catch her eye.

At the end, only one stayed on the desk. It was the list of spells she'd read at the beginning of the Trial.

Hermione pored over the schoolwork, focusing all her concentration on it. She forgot about the Trials. Forgot about time and space and the future. The only thing that mattered were the words before her, the ink, and the parchment.

Confundo– causes confusion with the target

Homenum Revelio– reveals the presence of other humans in the surrounding area

Aguamenti– conjures a jet of clean, drinkable water from the tip of the caster's wand

Reparo–fixes broken items. Could also be used to counter the effects of Diffindo

Mucus ad Nauseum Tria–

Sonorous–

It didn't make sense. Why was it incomplete? Was it trying to tell her something? And why these spells in particular? They didn't fit together in a typical lesson.

No, she doubted it would be another riddle. This would be a puzzle. Something about this was obvious. She was looking at it in a linear way, when she needed to look at it holistically.

It was when she stopped trying to decipher the meaning that she saw it.

Of course. She almost gasped with the relief of finding it.

It was an acrostic. She used to make them when she and Theo wanted to send each other secret messages as children, along with other versions of secret codes.

She sent a mental thank you to Theo as she extracted the first letter from each spell, building a complete word:

CHARMS

The next clue— it was apparent now that she'd seen it. That couldn't be a coincidence.

Hermione jumped out of her chair, heading over to the chalkboard toward the lesson she'd seen, placing the clue in an instant. She studied the board, knowing already that it held a charms lesson— an easy, first-year explanation on the difference between static and dynamic charms. Much like the list of spells, it was only half written.

Hermione wondered if the lesson meant anything, but she quickly rejected that theory. She suspected whatever was written was meant to lead her somewhere else. Much like the shadow and the acrostic, she needed to think beyond the obvious.

Maybe it had nothing to do with the content of what was written at all and had everything to do with the blackboard itself. She examined it, running her fingers along the surface, feeling for any irregularities under the pads of her fingers. Finding nothing, she turned her attention to the other objects nearby. A small bucket of chalk was perched on a ledge. She picked up a piece, twisting the dusty object beneath her fingers.

Maybe this time, they wanted her to finish the lesson.

Indulging her instinct, she lifted her hand, placing the tip of the chalk against the board. Before the chalk could move, the front part of the board melted away, revealing a cubbyhole behind it… filled with keys. They overflowed with every size and shape. Dozens of them. Some of them were golden, some silver, some wooden.

Hermione withheld her squeal of excitement, understanding she was nearly at the end of the Trial. She brushed away her emotions, knowing even excitement might be distracting.

Turning back to her task, she dug out all the keys and set them on the table. There were thirty in all. She arranged them first by material, then decided to rearrange by size. After getting them in order, she walked over to the door and examined the lock on the handle. It seemed like it had a larger tip, so she went back and pushed aside the smallest ones, leaving her with three. She almost gathered them up in her hands to try them out one by one, but then she stopped herself and set them back down.

It was too easy. She doubted the challenge would be as simple as fitting a key to a lock.

Again, she needed to think beyond what seemed obvious. The makers of this Trial wanted her to waste time messing with keys in the door.

But what if this wasn't the last clue? She almost despaired, stuck in her thoughts, until inspiration struck.

A key did fit a lock. It just wasn't the door lock.

Hermione searched high and low, unable to find anything, until she came back to the table and sat down in a huff. When today's Trial had begun she'd had her anxiety under control, but it was starting to build the longer she stayed inside the room.

A part of her wondered if the others had already solved the puzzles. Were they watching through the portraits, amused at how long it was taking her?

Stupid little doll.

Even if she never got to choose, she needed to at least win one. And this was the only Trial where she felt she had a chance.

It took great effort, but she brushed off the pessimism wishing to cloud her mind.

When her thoughts cleared, she looked over and saw the closed chess box on the table.

Our date, Malfoy had tried to whisper.

She hesitated. What was the motive for Malfoy giving her a clue? He couldn't seriously want her to win. Not when it would take a win away from him. Maybe this was some elaborate trick to waste her time, ensuring his own victory.

Us, he'd said before Viktor and Titus' duel, as if they were a team.

It was foolish to consider.

But maybe…

She pulled it towards her. It wasn't grand like Malfoy's—just an average set one could easily buy in Diagon Alley. Initially, she'd overlooked it, because there wasn't any lock on it that she could see. But it was in the room for a reason, and it didn't fit in a typical classroom, so it must mean something. It rattled when she shook it, but she couldn't open it.

Hermione searched over the box like she had the blackboard. This time, with her complete concentration on it, she saw a little shimmer in the corner. She ran her finger over it and almost yelled out loud in shock, finding a tiny notch.

A keyhole. A very small one.

The key sorting was easier this time, as she chucked all but two out just by size alone. The first fit inside, but it didn't twist.

The second—a small click sounded as it smoothly turned. It was a glorious feeling as she set the box in front of her and lifted the lid. However, instead of chess pieces, inside were potion ingredients.

This time Hermione suspected it would be what it seemed. There could be no other use for potion ingredients, except for making a potion. The trick was which potion. It could be anything in the world.

She pulled out the ingredients and set them side by side on the table:

Bat Wings

Armadillo Bile

Wormwood

Armotentia

Acromantula venom

Aconite

Water

Newt Tails

Betony

Dandelion Root

Pond Slime

She spent several minutes staring at the glass vials, before one ingredient stood out to her— Armadillo Bile. It was odd to include, since it was a fairly rare potion ingredient and only had a few uses, two of them illegal, and the third—

In a moment of pure euphoria, she knew exactly what she was supposed to make.

She walked over to the bookshelf and grabbed the potions book, along with a small cauldron on the floor near it that she'd missed in her earlier inspection. After looking at the index, she flipped to the correct page, placing her finger on the title.

Armadillo Bile Mixture—it was the main ingredient that tipped her off, since Armadillo bile was rarely used in potions. Armotentia— which was often confused with love potion, Amortentia—was also its main ingredient, having few other uses. The finished concoction was highly corrosive, usually kept in heavy jars with locked lids. It shouldn't be played with by an amateur. If it got on the skin, she'd need to wash the affected area with a unicorn hair immediately, though she suspected she'd be unable to be hurt by it in the first place.

It corroded any substance.

For instance, door handles.

The room had never meant to be opened with a key at all. She'd been right that the keys were a misdirection.

Hermione didn't waste time and got started mixing it, discarding the ingredients that didn't matter. Everything was already in the correct measurements, chopped and sliced the correct way, so it didn't take that long to pour them in the proper order. After, she grabbed the cauldron spoon and gave a single clockwise turn,and then two counterclockwise. The spoon sizzled as she placed it on the table.

Luckily, it required only a single minute of brewing time, but the time transformed into forever. She glanced at the clock, watching the second hand tick along. Each tick felt like agony.

She didn't have anything to distract herself from anxiety or doubt, as panic threatened to overtake her.

Nearing the end of the wait, she picked it up and walked over to the door, whispering under her breath.

"One, zero—" It popped and sizzled in the small cauldron. The black substance resembled tar, showing her that it was both correctly mixed and had finished coagulating. Making sure not to get it on her skin, she threw it at the door. It sizzled on contact. A thick, choking smoke filled the room and her eyes watered as she covered her nose with her sleeve.

The potion worked at a fast rate. She shuddered to think of what it could do to a person as she watched the door handle melt down, and then the door.

After half the door had disintegrated, Hermione, unable to wait a second longer, decided to take a chance. Betting on the fact that the potion couldn't truly hurt her, she curved her body around the melting door, holding her breath so she didn't inhale the toxic smoke. She almost got stuck, but pushed through, and like she suspected, it didn't burn her like it would have under normal circumstances.

"Finished!" she shouted after stumbling out.

Hermione looked up to find the four overseers staring at her in absolute shock. Dolohov had his mouth open.

"There's no fucking way," Macnair said.

"Merlin," Goyle whispered.

Hermione glanced around, expecting to see Titus or Draco. But Draco's door had just started to sizzle, and Titus' was still fully closed.

She'd been so elated at solving the puzzle, at competing in a way that challenged her brain, that she'd almost forgotten the whole purpose of the day.

She'd won a Trial.

By seconds. Against all odds.

Being in the competition was meant to be a joke, a tradition none of them took seriously, a way to show muggleborns their place.

She wasn't actually supposed to win one.

Her feet shifted as she waited, absorbing their stares, both withering and shocked. It felt like hatred, an instant antagonism.

Draco made it out not long after she did. He coughed a few times, blond hair stained grey with soot. A minute later, dark smoke billowed out as Titus pushed open his door with a shove of his boot, the dragon hide impervious to most corrosive substances.

His wand was out, pointed at Draco. "I'm going to fucking kill you!"

The rest of the room was still silent, participants and overseers, as he stalked forward until he had his wand pressed to Draco's chest. Sweat from the heat of the melting doors beaded amongst the toxic soot staining Titus' forehead. Hermione assumed she looked similar.

"Kill me?" Draco let a single eyebrow raise. "What could I have done to deserve that?"

Titus grit his teeth, broad shoulders shaking from withholding his violence.

"You know what you did! There was twice the amount of Acromantula venom in my vial. If I'd put all of it in, the fumes would have poisoned me!"

"That's a serious accusation," Draco expression flattened besides a twitch of his lips. "Extra venom? It sounds like an honest mistake any elf could make. Not sure why you'd blame me. And, really, you're overreacting. Double the amount of venom wouldn't kill you, merely incapacitate you for a few days."

"Do you have any proof of your claims?" Snape drawled. His eyes were zipping back and forth between his godson and Titus.

"I will after I go through his memories."

Draco uncrossed his arms.

"Go ahead."

Titus looked like he might snap, but he lowered his wand, knowing just as well as she did that Draco was a master occlumens. If Bellatrix couldn't break through his walls, Titus couldn't either. He had no proof.

"You think you're so fucking clever, Malfoy, but one day the big dog you snap at will tear out your throat."

"I'm terrified," Draco drawled.

Titus looked like he was seconds away from making good on his threat.

Hermione wondered if this was Draco's plan– bait Titus until he snapped. But if Titus snapped, he'd murder him.

Instead of reacting further, Titus turned and walked toward Hermione. Once he got to her, he stood behind her and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. Everything had been wiped from his expression, showing that he was attempting to occlude, though it was going poorly. His fingers tightened and then released.

"I'm assuming that the girl's win will be void," Dolohov said.

"Void?" Hermione's soul filled with fire, exploding through her veins. She'd won that Trial! Even with Draco's underhanded move, she still would have won it by several minutes. She attempted to step toward Dolohov, but Titus tugged her back.

"Don't you dare," he whispered to her. "Dolohov is not as forgiving as I am."

He was right, though she loathed it. She curled her hands into fists, clenching her teeth, wishing her gaze could burn.

"What happens if the win is void?" Goyle Sr. asked. His confused expression reminded her of his son.

"I was second out," Draco spoke up. "If you void it, then I should be named the victor."

Titus slowly turned his head and glared at Draco. Whatever conclusion he came to, he didn't like.

"Hermione won this Trial," Titus said in a low voice. A firm statement that showed he didn't want to be argued with.

It seemed Titus would rather she won than Draco.

Macnair scowled as if tasting something bitter.

"A muggleborn winning her own Trial? It's absurd. An aberration of nature. Perhaps we should look into Titus and his leniency with the girl."

"Or, perhaps, I should look into your indiscretions," Titus threatened.

Whatever he meant by that statement was understood by Macnair. The older man straightened, features tight.

"Enough," Dolohov interjected with a wave of his hand before tempers could rise. He leaned back in his chair watching her. "It doesn't matter to me who wins or loses, as long as the result is the same. The girl can keep her win, though both contestants need to agree for it to hold." Dolohov kept his hard eyes on her. "So what do you say, Malfoy? Are you going to let the mudblood win a Trial?"

They waited for Draco's reply. She could almost see the wheels behind his eyes turning.

"I don't see why we're even debating it. She was first out the door. I'd rather win on my own merit."

Dolohov let out a snort of laughter.

"Your father will not be happy with that foolish decision. If you claim this one, then you'd have a chance to take your prize by tonight."

"My father doesn't make decisions for me."

Dolohov shook his head, and Snape glared at his godson.

A sudden thought occurred to her.

"And if I win tonight?" Hermione crossed her arms. "Will you suddenly decide that one is void too?"

Macnair snorted, as if the thought of her winning a second trial was the most ridiculous thing he'd heard all day. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. A win by a muggleborn would be pointless."

"She certainly is precocious," Dolohov said, with a nasty grin.

Titus brushed her neck with his thumb, as if to calm her.

"You won't win the next one, Sprite."

The condescending tone annoyed her. They had never thought she'd win this one either, but she'd proven them wrong. A hope rose in her, uncontrollable. She was unable to bottle it up.

"But if I do?" She asked again, unwilling to be dissuaded. "I want a guarantee that you'll uphold your word that I'd get to choose."

"Choose?" Macnair spat. "A muggleborn choosing her own wizard! Is this the depths to which we've lowered ourselves—"

"Quiet, Macnair," Dolohov cut off in a dangerous tone. "You're giving me a headache. As I've said before, if Nott and Malfoy are fine with it, then I care little who gets her in the end, as long as everything proceeds as normal. Do you understand? And if she wins the next one— well, maybe that's a sign that she's the one."

Silence. Titus tensed behind her.

Macnair still grimaced, but he gave a nod and sat back in his chair.

The one? What was he talking about?

"So does that mean my next win is safeguarded?" Hermione asked, slightly confused. She just wanted them all to say it. Written in stone. Unable to wiggle out.

"Again, that's up to your master and Malfoy," Dolohov said.

"It's fine with me," Draco said.

Hermione turned and looked at Titus, knowing he had the final verdict. His face was hard to read. He seemed to be thinking, doing calculations.

Titus' hand tightened again on her shoulder.

"We'll discuss this at home, Sprite"

Was he saying no? Her lungs tightened as she tried not to react to the betrayal.

"No," she demanded. "I need a guarantee right now. In front of everyone."

He leaned down, lips close to her ear.

"Do not disobey me here. I said we'll discuss this at home."

Maybe he was right. She remembered Dolohov suggesting Titus dampen her magic. If she fought too hard in front of him, then he might change his mind about letting her compete.

Titus pushed a little on her shoulder so that she'd walk forward. Draco stood perfectly still as they passed him, hands behind his back, head to the side, staring at her with a wicked grin on his face.

"Good luck tonight, Hermione." Her name rolled off his tongue like a poem.

Titus paused their walk.

"Instead of good luck, you should say goodbye. Because after the next Trial, I'll make sure you never see her again."

For the second time, something peeked out from behind Draco's mask. It was cold and hard as a knife, the sharp teeth of a predator. He kept Titus' stare without backing down.

"Good luck, Hermione," he said again, each word a declaration of war.

Titus didn't move, dissecting the sentence, as if weighing whether or not to take it seriously. After a second, he gave a derisive scoff and pushed on the back of Hermione's neck, signalling their time to leave.


A/N: There are a few things happening behind the scenes that Hermione doesn't know yet. Some of it will be revealed in the next chapter. Some of it will be answered in chapter 26. So if something doesn't seem to add up, it will probably be answered in the future.

A/N 2: I did not come up with the riddle. It's a very common one that can be found on several websites dedicated to riddles. Some of you might have even heard it before. It doesn't seem to have any author that I could find, but it's not my brain child.