With all the stress from Harry and the tournament, from Professor Vector's dying friend, and from the potential goblin rebellion exploding, Hermione felt like a bubbling cauldron, moments away from boiling over at any given moment. Fooling around with Fleur only helped so much, and new worries and stresses always filled up the empty space that was left from whatever tension Fleur managed to drain away. Hermione was aware she was teetering on a precipice of sorts, on the verge of a mental breakdown unless she did something to handle her stress.

So when Lysander Lestrange challenged her to a duel one night for no apparent reason, Hermione had snapped back at him before her mind caught up with her mouth.

"Explain this to me again," Draco said at dinner, looking pale. "Why did Lysander Lestrange challenge you to a duel?"

"I don't know," Hermione said again, staring down at her plate. "It came out of nowhere. Something about me corrupting magic and ruining his family, I think? I wasn't really listening, to be honest – I didn't realize what was happening until he'd thrown a disc at me."

"'Thrown a disc'," Pansy said disgustedly, rolling her eyes. "As if a House Crest for a challenge was a plate."

Blaise's lips quirked. "Well, Hermione pretty much threw her disc back at him – caught him right in the lip, it flew so fast."

Hermione winced. "To be fair, I'd never actually used that spell before."

"No kidding," Draco whistled. "Merlin, Hermione. A real duel."

"How are you making a big deal of this?" Hermione demanded, looking up at Draco. "You're the one who dueled Cedric Diggory over a year ago, doing the exact same thing—"

"That was an honor duel," Draco said, raising an eyebrow. "And it was against a Hufflepuff. This is against another Slytherin, Hermione. An older one. And a Lestrange." He gave her a serious look. "I trust you know what that means?"

Hermione sighed. "Yeah. I do."

Viktor had sat silent during this discussion, listening in as he learned the customs of British honor dueling. Now he spoke.

"At Durmstrang, in duel, person has second," he said. "Backup person, to make certain rules are followed, to avenge if not." He looked at Hermione. "Is same for British?"

"Oh. Yes, it is," Hermione said. She made a face. "Now I need to find a second, too?" she whined. "As if the duel wasn't already enough."

"If you want," Viktor told her, very seriously, "it would be honor to serve as second to you."

Hermione was stunned for a moment. She considered the offer, pausing as she weighed it in her mind.

Her first instinct had been to ask someone in her coven, or another Shadow. If something happened and her second needed to step in, though, no one in her coven would be able to do anything that she wouldn't have already tried or cast. Viktor at least was older, had a repertoire of many more spells, and was more powerful. And he knew Dark magic; he was more likely to know counter-curses to anything illegal that Lestrange might use.

Also, she'd already seen him duel.

"You know what? Sure," Hermione said abruptly. She glowered down the table at Lestrange. "I'd be honored to have you as my second, Viktor."

Viktor smiled a sharp smile, pleased, and Hermione saw Draco and Theo exchange a wary look. Hermione didn't care; if they were worried about Viktor using the Dark magic Durmstrang was known for, she should only be so lucky – Lysander deserved whatever was coming to him.


After dinner, anyone in Slytherin 4th year and above went down to the old, abandoned dueling rooms, filing into one that was lit up. Hermione and Viktor stepped up onto the platform to meet her challenger, and Hermione sneered to see Lysander had chosen Alexia Rosier as his second.

"How are we doing this?" she demanded. "To the death?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Alexia spat, though she paled rapidly. "To surrender, unconsciousness, or disarmament—"

"Absolutely not," Hermione cut her off. "Surrender or unconsciousness I'm fine with, but if I lose my wand, I am absolutely not out of the fight."

Lysander glared at her.

"Fine," he said tightly. "Any restrictions on spells?"

Here, Hermione looked at Viktor, who stepped forward.

"No Unforgivables," he said. "No magic that is fatal within ten minutes. No magic to which healing or a cure is not known."

"Fine by me," Lestrange snapped.

"The healing doesn't have to be immediate, right?" Hermione asked Viktor. "Like, if I set his hair on fire, it's alright if it takes a few months for him to recover from third-degree burns – so long as he can recover, right?"

"Yes," Viktor said, nodding. His smile was sharp. "Opponent must live. Though… want to die, maybe."

Lysander and Alexia exchanged a heavy look, one that could have been read a million different ways, but Hermione didn't care.

"Are we doing this, then?" she snapped. She handed Alexia the crest Lysander had challenged her with, and Lysander handed Alexia Hermione's fox crest.

"Yes." Alexia stepped back, giving her a curt look. "Places, people."

Hermione stalked off to her side of the dueling ring, Lysander turning and going to his. Viktor followed Hermione and stepped off the dueling ring right behind her, while Alexia stood in the middle, addressing the crowd.

"Lysander Lestrange has challenged Hermione Granger to a duel," she announced. "Lysander, your claim?"

"Hermione Granger is an upstart nobody mudblood," he sneered, ignoring the shocked gasps at his language from around the room. "She is corrupting magic, running around pretending to be a 'New Blood', and she is ruining my family. I demand satisfaction."

Alexia enlarged Lysander's crest and affixed it to the wall, before turning to Hermione.

"What says Hermione Granger in response?" she asked, wary.

Hermione drew herself up.

"I am New Blood," she pronounced, her voice cold. "It doesn't matter if you believe it or not – it simply is, the way the rain falls, the way the birds migrate, the way the world turns. Corrupting magic – what a joke; Magic itself runs through me, and I am its conduit, its chosen force upon the world."

This was beginning to sound like a speech, which Hermione hadn't intended on. It was difficult to stop now that she was on a roll, but now wasn't the time or place.

"And I have no idea what this business about 'ruining his family' is about," she said curtly, her eyes flashing at Lysander, "but as I wasn't asked for help, merely accused and challenged, I find I don't particularly care."

Alexia enlarged and charmed Hermione's fox crest up onto the wall next to the Lestranges' raven one.

"The duel ends at surrender or unconsciousness," she announced. "Are you ready?"

"Ready," Lysander said.

"Ready," Hermione snapped.

Alexia looked she was about to say something else, before she bit her lip, cutting herself off.

"On 'one', then," she said, and she flicked her wand at the ceiling, muttering a spell. A ribbon shot out of her wand, forming a large '9' that hovered in the air. A moment later, it had twisted into an '8' as it slowly fell toward the floor, and '7' was only a moment later as the ribbon drifted down.

Hermione shifted her stance, her eyes on Lysander, ready.

Lysander was older than her and likely knew more spells, she knew, but Hermione had learned a few tricks of her own in the wake of her duel with Viktor, and she was prepared to fight and win.

More than just winning, Hermione thought, her eyes flashing as she watched the ribbon drift down – she had to make a point. She had to not just win against Lysander, but to crush him, to make it look easy, to yank out this sprout of disrespect before it had the chance to grow throughout Slytherin like a weed. More than half of Slytherin House was watching; now, if ever, was the time to show her House that going up against Hermione Granger was a very bad idea.

The crowd had started chanting at some point, and Hermione saw Lysander raise his wand as the count neared the end.

"3!" the crowd chanted. "2!... 1!"

Lysander's first curse was a Cutting Curse, followed up narrowly by a Silencing Spell, which Hermione thought was rather clever. She dodged the first and shielded against the second, watching as he dodged both of her spells – a Disarming Charm and a Tripping Hex.

Lysander's next spells were nastier – a darker cutting spell of some sort, a boil jinx, and a Bone-Bashing hex. Hermione dodged the first and shielded against the second and third, watching with satisfaction as Lysander had to hastily cast a counter-curse on himself – she'd hit him with a dancing curse.

"Are you playing?" Lysander demanded, furious. "What are these kiddie spells?"

Hermione smirked, raising an eyebrow lazily.

"Oh?" she said, her tone unbothered and casual. "Was I supposed to take you seriously, then?"

Lysander scowled and slashed his wand through the air – Hermione shielded against the Disarming Charm, dodged some kind of dark illusion curse, and laughed aloud when she saw him casting "Sepensortia!" as his third.

The crowd gasped and fell back as Lestrange's wand emitted a large black adder, and as the snake wound its way towards Hermione, Hermione crouched down, her smile cruel.

"Hello, little one," she hissed. "Be a dear and try and bite the bad man who conjured you here, will you?"

The adder paused and swayed for a moment, before turning and eyeing Lysander, who froze.

"That's him," Hermione encouraged, her eyes sharp. "Quickly, now – we can't let our prey get away."

The adder lunged for Lysander, racing across the platform, and there were screams as Lysander cursed and dodged, firing Banishing charms and hexes at the snake. Hermione straightened and watched on as Lysander fought with the snake, supremely unconcerned and not bothering to try and jinx him while he was preoccupied – which would have been all too easy to do.

When Lysander finally hit the snake with a Banishment charm, he was panting, and it took him a moment to realize Hermione was still standing there idly waiting for him, and his eyes flashed.

"What are you playing at?" he snapped. "Why didn't you curse me when you had the chance?"

"Oh, but it would have been rude," Hermione protested, putting a hand to her mouth in mock horror. Her smile was cruel. "It was only fair to let the snake have a go of her own."

Lysander looked furious, whipping his wand through the air again, but Hermione was done playing. A quick and overpowered "Ventus!" blew him backwards off his feet, and by the time Lysander had scrambled back up, Hermione had finished the finicky wand movements for a Transfiguration – one that hit his face.

The crowd gasped as Lysander's face morphed, the skin around his mouth growing to stretch over the opening and cover it over, leaving him looking like some horrible, deformed monster with no mouth. There was clearly still some kind of orifice behind the thin wall of skin – Hermione could hear him vaguely shouting from behind it, but there was no enunciation, no sense of distinct syllables of any sort. She idly tossed a Disarming Charm at him, which he managed to dodge, only to be struck by her Stinging Hex, and his shriek was muffled from behind his twisted skin-mouth. Her next Disarming Charm hit him, and his wand flew across the room, clattering across the floor and off the dueling platform.

Hermione saw Alexia step forward out of the corner of her eye, but Viktor held up an arm, blocking her.

"Not to losing wand," he reminded her. "To surrender or unconscious."

"How's he supposed to surrender?!" Alexia demanded, her voice almost a shriek. "He's got no mouth!"

Viktor shrugged, his eyes gleaming. "Not Hermione's problem."

The crowd murmured, and a dark sense of satisfaction came over Hermione.

"Corrupting magic," she said, scoffing. "What will it take to convince you otherwise, Lestrange? What will it take?"

Without so much as a spell, she hurled a fireball at him as if from nowhere, and there were screams as Lysander narrowly dodged.

"Magic flows through me like nobody else," she told him, wiggling her fingers as water condensed over her palm. "Purely. Unfiltered. The world is mine to command."

The water over her hand froze, droplets forming tiny shards of ice, and with a wave and burst of air magic, needles of ice raced towards Lysander, who did his best to dodge. There were so many of them, though, and they were hard to see. Lysander couldn't evade her entire attack, he howled behind his distorted face as the ice needles nicked him, maybe a dozen drawing blood as they hit or flew by.

"What proof do you demand, Lysander?" Hermione asked, shaking her head. "Do I need to channel raw magic to convince you otherwise? Because if you demand it—" her eyes were sharp as she tapped the ley line, and she saw his eyes widen in fear "—I will."

Hermione wasn't sure what would happen when she lashed out at him with raw magic. All she knew was magic was energy – energy that could pick up intent, but still energy similar to any other form – and she wanted to make him hurt.

What happened was there was a painful moment of blinding white light exploding out of her with a deafening CRACK and immediately followed by a loud BOOM. There was magic racing out of her, electric pain bursting from her hand, but Hermione couldn't see anything, still blinded. Shaking with adrenaline, Hermione had to take a deep breath and force her body to calm itself, her vision slowly returning as the afterimage from the flash faded.

There was screaming, people panicking, and it was only after Hermione's vision cleared entirely that she realized the raw magic she was channeling looked like lightning. It was a blinding white light edged in dark purple, zapping across the stage and electrocuting Lysander Lestrange, who looked as if he was having a seizure on the floor. Hermione watched on, fascinated, ignoring the pain exploding from her hand as she looked at the lightning itself – it was so bright it was like a tear in reality, corrupting the torn edges in a necrotic purple.

"Stop! Stop! Hermione, stop!"

Hermione looked up, blinking, her thoughts slow to clear.

Someone had run and gotten Snape, who looked wild, like he'd run all the way there. He was yelling at her, yelling for her to stop. That made sense, Hermione considered – if Lysander died, it would probably be a lot of paperwork, and she might even technically lose the duel. She should probably stop electrocuting him – it would make Snape happy. Maybe he would give her points.

Almost as an afterthought, Hermione let her hand fall, and the magic stopped, the electricity in the air dying down, and Lysander's muscles seized for another few moments before falling still.

Hermione looked at Alexia, who flinched before shakingly took a step forwards.

"By knocking her opponent unconscious," she said, her voice shaking, "Hermione Granger wins!"

Hermione threw a cutting curse at Lysander's crest on the wall, lopping off the bottom half of it and watching as it bled all down the wall and onto the floor. She watched as Alexia and Snape flew to examine Lysander, who lay prone, her thoughts slowly clearing and returning to her as her adrenaline ebbed away. A moment later, Lysander groaned on the floor, clearly alive, and the crowd murmured.

"Hospital Wing!" Snape snapped. "Rosier, Snyde, come here now!"

Hermione privately thought Lestrange could just sleep it off – it'd just been magic overwhelming his system, not any actual curse. Sure, it'd probably hurt – having magic overload your core and nervous system was bound to misfire your nerves—

She blinked. There was a thought.

"Hermione, you did so well," Viktor praised, stepping towards her. His voice was low and warm, his eyes dark on hers. "I am proud of you."

"Thanks," Hermione said. She looked up at him. "Viktor, how does the Cruciatus Curse work? Does it just use magic to overload your nerves? Is the pain it causes entirely neuropathic?"

Viktor, to his credit, didn't falter. "I not know, but I have book we can check in."

"Hermione Granger!"

Hermione turned to see Snape descending on her, snarling and furious. Spittle was flying out of his mouth, he was so angry, and Hermione glared right back at him.

"What?" she demanded, defiant. Part of her felt unreasonably hurt that Snape had gone to her enemy first, betrayed, even though she knew he was obligated to look over all the Slytherins, not just her. "What? Honor duels are allowed! And he challenged me!"

"So I've heard," Snape said, through gritted teeth. His hand closed on her upper arm. "My office, Granger. Now."

Grudgingly, Hermione allowed him to manhandle her out of the room, dragging her away from the dueling ring and to his office. She considered lashing out at him and blowing him away, like she'd done with Theo the last time he'd presumed to touch her aggressively, but she withheld herself. She liked Snape, even if she was mad at him right now, and she didn't want to make things worse.

Snape threw open the door to his office and shoved Hermione inside, slamming the door shut and hexing it a moment after he was in right after her.

"What on earth do you think you were doing?!" Snape demanded. His eyes were sharp and frighteningly black. He was furious, Hermione could see; she couldn't remember the last time she'd ever seen Snape so angry.

"I was winning a duel!" Hermione snapped back. "What was I supposed to do? Lose?"

"You could have killed him!" Snape snarled.

"I was making a point!"

Snape let out a horrible, strangled scream at her response, a horrid noise of wordless frustration and violence at having to deal with her. He glowered at her, and Hermione glared right back at him.

"It was raw magic," Hermione said grudgingly. "There wasn't any fatal intent attached. It wouldn't have killed him – only hurt him."

"And the spectators were supposed to know that?" Snape demanded. "They were supposed to see you attacking your classmate with lightning, and they were supposed to know that he would be okay?"

"No, they weren't!" Hermione snapped. "It was supposed to intimidate them! That was the whole point! If Lysander Lestrange is going to go around calling me an upstart mudblood who's corrupting magic, I'm going to make a point of it and show everyone how much better I am at channeling magic than he is—"

"I am growing increasingly concerned, Miss Granger, about your propensity to take dangerous matters with upperclassmen into your own hands," Snape gritted out.

"He challenged me!" Hermione protested. "What was I supposed to do, stand down?"

"You could have told a teacher," Snape snapped.

"Bully for that! I didn't need to," she spat, glaring back at him. "I handled myself just fine! And if it makes any of the other upperclassmen think twice before badmouthing my House or picking on me? That suits me just fine."

Hermione's chest was heaving – she was breathing hard, she was so mad, like her body couldn't contain all her fury. She felt like she was on the verge of a meltdown, but a violent one – not her cauldron bubbling over or melting, but her cauldron exploding, hunks of iron flying everywhere.

"I didn't start this," Hermione managed to get out, though her teeth were clenched. "Lysander challenged me. I didn't have a problem with him until he started it." She looked at Snape defiantly. "And I finished it."

Snape angry gaze burned into her for a long moment.

"And what of Cassius Warrington?" he said. "Did he challenge you too?"

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Hermione gasped soundlessly, her jaw dropping. Her legs were suddenly wobbly and loose, and she felt herself collapse back into one of the wooden chairs in front of the desk.

"W-what?"

"Cassius Warrington," Snape said softly. His eyes were sharp, glittering like black beetles.

"I—I don't know Cassius Warrington," Hermione tried to argue. "He never challenged me—"

"Did he cross you, then?" Snape asked, folding his arms and looking down at her. "What did Mr. Warrington do, Miss Granger, to warrant what you did to him?"

"What I did to him?" Hermione said, defensive. "I'm sorry – what exactly do you think I did to him?"

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Cassius Warrington," he told her, his voice low and dangerous, "came to me this past week asking for help, Miss Granger. He needed a special potion brewed." His eyes glittered. "Can you guess what that potion was?"

Hermione had no idea. Was there a potion that could undo the effects of rituals? "I don't know, sir."

Snape's eyes flashed.

"Mr. Warrington needed a testosterone-creating potion," Snape informed her, "not unlike the one I have been brewing for your little friend Manfred up in Ravenclaw."

Hermione only had a scant moment for the knowledge to enter her mind and click, astonished realization hitting her, before Snape swooped down on her.

"Cassius came to me because he had castrated himself." Snape's voice was dangerous, deadly. "He wouldn't speak of it or to tell me why, but all I could see in his mind when he thought of it was you."

"You used Legilimency on him?" Hermione was outraged. "Without telling him? That's so unethical!"

"A student came to me having chopped off his testicles!" Snape roared. "What was I supposed to do, pat him on the back, advise him on the dangers of masturbating with a knife, and tell him to be more careful next time?!"

"He wouldn't have needed to hack off his bollocks if he could have stopped jerking it!" Hermione spat mutinously. She glared back at Snape, and Snape pinched the bridge of his nose very hard, stalking around to behind his desk and sitting down.

There was a long, tense moment as they both considered each other in hard silence. Hermione was glaring, still angry, but Snape seemed to be calming down, his gaze more calculating.

"Miss Granger," Snape said softly. "Hermione. I know you. I have seen you slowly grow into a sorceress of great potential. I know you do not do things without cause. But this…" He slowly exhaled, pinching his nose. "Please. What did he do to deserve such harm?"

Hermione scowled and looked away, glowering at the wall.

"He sexually assaulted a classmate," Hermione said finally, not looking at Snape. "Fed her a drugged chocolate, forced her to do things."

She could hear Snape's sharp intake of breath. His next words surprised her.

"Is Miss Greengrass okay?"

Hermione's gaze flew up to meet his, startled. Snape's eyes locked with hers.

"Daphne? Yeah. Yeah, she's fine," Hermione said. "We made sure of that first thing, went and got the tea from Madame Pomfrey… how did you know it was Daphne?"

"She is the only one of your year I have seen with Mr. Warrington," Snape said, arching an eyebrow. "The only one with a recent broken engagement. And the only one I can imagine who being hurt that would rile your wrath."

Hermione scowled at the desk. There was a pause, and Snape's next words were gentle.

"She could have come to a teacher."

"Yeah, well, she didn't want to do that," Hermione snapped, defensive. "She didn't want her reputation ruined, and she didn't want word of what happened getting out."

"We would have handled the issue."

"Oh yeah? How?" Hermione jerked her head back up to glare at Snape. "Would he have been expelled just at her word? From testimony based on cloudy memories?" Her anger and fury at the offense was surging back, like it had just happened. "His family would have protested, fought the charge, and dragged Daphne's name through the mud. I can't blame her for not wanting to report him to a teacher," Hermione spat venomously. "What would have actually been done?"

There was a silence.

"And what did you do, Miss Granger?" Snape's voice was quiet, deadly, and Hermione slouched back in the chair and scowled.

"We did a ritual to tie his magic to his semen," Hermione said. "We made it so—"

"We?"

"All the 4th year Slytherin girls," Hermione said impatiently. "We made it so every time he ejaculated, he'd lose some of his magical power back to the earth. Not a lot for once on its own, but with it happening each time… it would add up." She gnawed on her lip. "I—I didn't expect him to cut his bollocks off. I just expected him to become abstinent, really. I guess maybe he tried that, but started having nocturnal emissions?" She hummed. "I didn't consider that in the ritual. Not that I care, really, but I would have known—"

Snape was shaking his head, tightly pinching the bridge of his nose. Hermione watched him, wondering what was going through his mind.

"I don't know what to say, Miss Granger," Snape said finally. "I genuinely don't know what to say."

Hermione shrugged. She didn't know what to say either.

After a long moment, Snape sighed.

"It has not escaped my notice that you have taken your dorm mates under your House's protection," he said. "As such, if you had demanded satisfaction against Mr. Warrington for his sexual assault of Miss Greengrasss, you would have been legally in the right to execute him, by the terms usually set for such a duel."

"Wait, really?" Hermione was surprised. "The wizarding world still actually does formal duels to the death?"

"They are rare," Snape told her. "But they do happen."

"That's barbaric," Hermione said, astonished. "Good to know. Not that I'm planning on one!" she said hastily, holding up her hands. "Just—still. A good thing to know."

Snape rolled his eyes and sighed.

"If pressed, I will be able to compare potential outcomes and conclude that Mr. Warrington may have gotten off lightly," Snape said, looking down at her. "Surely losing his testicles is better than worth losing his life."

"If it's not, he's welcome to rectify it himself," Hermione said promptly, and Snape snorted despite himself, before he sighed.

"Hermione," he said. "You are making my life very difficult, you realize?"

"Me?" Hermione asked, surprised. "How?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Who do you think Dumbledore comes to for details when a strange Druid school of magic shows up out of nowhere, its acolytes greeting you like an old friend?" he asked her. "Who do you think he interrogates about your activities when you rouse his suspicion?"

"Suspicion of what?" Hermione said, incredibly alarmed, and Snape rolled his eyes again.

"You came to a school dance dressed in diamonds," he informed her. "The Headmaster felt the need to ask questions."

Hermione relaxed. "Oh. I—I suppose I can see that." She glanced up at him. "What did you tell him?"

"That you had asked to use one of the Alchemy rooms," Snape said dryly. "I wouldn't be surprised if he approaches you after your O.W.L.s and asks if you wanted to learn Alchemy formally. He thinks you're a prodigy."

"Oh." Hermione wasn't sure what she felt about that.

Snape sighed, and Hermione felt her heart go out to him.

"I'm genuinely not planning anything insane," she reassured him. "The Cassius thing and Lysander thing really was because they brought it on themselves, not because I was plotting ahead of time. And then I had already been having a bad day - a bad week, really - and I kind of lost it on Lysander." She gnawed on her lip. "I really do just want to get Harry through the tournament alive."

"Then let us hope, Miss Granger," Snape said wearily, "that no one else rouses your ire ever again."