Chapter 43: Hermione

Huge Raving Maniac

"'[…] Look, you know what I mean. You take a bunch of people who don't seem any different from you and me, but when you add them all together you get this sort of huge raving maniac with national borders and an anthem.'" — Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment

Moments later—

Stupid. Stupid.

Foolish!

Mindless!

What had she done?

Hermione had already resolved to owl Malfoy and call off her ridiculous scheme by the time she exited the Floo at Grimmauld Place from Nott Manor. So what if she had temporarily lost her mind and challenged Malfoy to a duel? She had done worse things—crazier, more ridiculous things—in her life.

It had been the look on Malfoy's face after she brought up what he had said during their dance that had set her off. He looked regretful—almost … tender.

It made her furious.

Malfoy knew what he had been doing. Hermione knew that he knew. Malfoy had swept her onto the gala dance floor, spun her around, held her close, and whispered things into her ear. Was she insane? Had she imagined the whole evening?

No, she had not. And while corresponding with Malfoy over the last week, Hermione admitted some things to herself.

One: Though she was not proud of this fact, Hermione had been grateful for Malfoy's admission that he had been threatened by Priscus and had seen the man lingering around suspicious locations. It had reminded Hermione who Malfoy truly was and where he came from: a sect of magical society so far beyond Hermione's understanding that Malfoy's whispering sweet promises into her ear was akin to fiction.

Two: His words had been nothing. Nonsense.

Sure, Zacharias's blatant prejudice against Malfoy was wrong, but recognizing that didn't make Hermione a fan of Malfoy's. Hermione Granger defending Draco Malfoy? Even if he had "helped" save her life and catch Rowle, she did not owe him anything. He should be begging to help her on this case, if only to ease some of the red in his metaphorical ledgers. He probably had actual ledgers, too, the rich ponce.

But the duel was a bad idea.

Hermione would call it off as a gesture of clemency and hope Malfoy would agree to consult on the case in thanks. And if he didn't—well, Hermione could swallow her pride and let Terry be her partner. The thought of spending so much time alone with Terry, of all people, made Hermione want to crawl out of her skin from embarrassment. But it was her job.

"Harry!" she called, dusting off the soot from her robes.

"In the kitchen!" came Harry's voice, cheerful and loud.

Hermione made her way down the stairs to the long, slightly gloomy kitchen of Grimmauld Place. As she descended, the murmuring voices of several people—more than just Harry—floated toward her.

She stopped short at the door.

A bonafide crowd gathered around the kitchen table: Harry, Ron, Lavender, Kreacher (pouring something that looked like Champagne), Megan still clad in her patrol robes, a large, brooding man with brown skin and sharp eyes she didn't recognize, and—Hermione's heart stuttered in shock—Joseph.

"Hermione!" Harry grinned, raising a glass from his standing position at the far end of the table. "You're just in time. Kreacher, please, another for Hermione!"

"What's all this?" she asked, stepping into the room directly opposite Harry, with Joseph around the table to her right and Lavender to her left. Crookshanks leaped from his perch on a nearby countertop and trotted over, weaving possessively through Hermione's legs, his bottlebrush tail caressing the fabric of her trousers.

"You left the Ministry about five minutes before the news broke. The Night of Terror Act is officially repealed," Harry announced, beaming. "We're celebrating!"

"Oh! That's brilliant," Hermione said, overwhelmed, as Kreacher muttered incoherently while handing her a generous glass of bubbly.

Joseph moved toward her from around the closest corner of the long wood table, and he looked wonderful. It seemed like he had recently left his law office, clothed in a dark Muggle suit with no tie and the top buttons of his collared shirt undone. Hermione smiled weakly, feeling guilty that they had not had time to reconnect in person since she had returned from France.

Joseph looked concerned. He murmured, "Hermione, are you all right? You look—"

But before she could answer, Lavender's lilting voice rang out. "The repeal's mostly thanks to you, Hermione! You and Harry! And you looked fabulous doing it, if I do say so myself. I've gotten a couple of inquiries based on photos of your robe jumpsuit in The Prophet."

Ron reached around Lavender's back to squeeze her shoulder. Hermione could not help but smile.

The tall man, whom Hermione did not know, raised his glass in cheers. She glanced at him, and Joseph realized her confusion.

"Hermione, this is Ralph from my pack. I might have mentioned him to you before." Joseph gestured across the table that separated him and Hermione from Ralph.

"Yes," murmured Hermione in recognition. She recalled Ralph, a pack member having trouble holding down stable employment. Something stirred at the back of Hermione's mind, though she could not pin it down. She tried to clear her head and reached out her free hand toward Ralph, who took it and began to shake. "It's wonderful to meet you."

"You as well," Ralph responded in a thick brogue. His hand was meaty, so warm as to be almost hot, with a firm grip. He let Hermione go and nodded to her from across the table.

"You know, I was at the gala too," Ron mumbled over the rim of his Champagne flute. "I helped some people get out."

"Yes," Lavender agreed, rubbing Ron's shoulder, "You did great, my love. You almost made it out yourself before you passed out drunk."

Everyone laughed, and Ron turned a bit red, but Lavender was beaming at him. He grabbed her hand to kiss the back and held it at his side. By the time Rowle and his gang descended from the stands, Ron had been too inebriated to realize what was happening at the gala.

Hermione was quite glad Ron wasn't involved with the fighting. Her stomach clenched as she recalled the on-duty andsoberFrench Auror who had fallen off the cliffside, dead.

"Let's not forget," Megan said dryly, tipping her glass in mock toast, "to thank Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy, too."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably as the group muttered. Harry nodded. "It's true."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, well … I'll bet you and Hermione would've caught them faster without those gits slowing you down."

"No," Harry replied, dragging out the word as if talking to a child. "Malfoy's potion was the reason we even knew what was happening."

Ron grumbled unhappily.

"And anyway," Harry continued. "We're contracting the potion to be standard in field aurors' kits, and we're hoping Malfoy will consult on a case with Hermione. He—er … seems against it, though." Harry eyed Hermione from his position across the room.

"Ha," Ron barked in laughter. "Big shock. Why'd you even consider him anyway? How about literally anyone else?"

"He has relevant expertise, Ron," Harry retorted tiredly.

"Yeah. In being a big git."

"I thought we were past this after Mungo's."

"Fine, he's a big, occasionally helpful git."

"He saved Hermione!"

"Doesn't mean she has to indulge him as a consultant. She's suffered enough."

Hermione, whose heart was positively hammering, could take no more of her best friends' bickering. The adrenaline from her confrontation with Malfoy must not have ebbed sufficiently. That was the only explanation for her next loud, blunt confession.

Her voice cracked slightly as she declared, "I challenged Malfoy to a duel."

Ron and Harry both turned to Hermione with gaping mouths. Lavender and Megan looked confused. Ralph stood stoically, not quite following the conversation, and Joseph stiffened beside her before giving her a concerned look.

"What?" Harry asked to break the silence. He set his Champagne on the table in front of him.

"I—" Hermione faltered. She sipped the cold, bubbly liquid to clear the dryness from her throat. She coughed. "I might have—well, I did. I challenged Malfoy to a duel. If I win, he'll consult on the case."

"The bloody hell sort of case warrants Malfoy that much?" Ron looked incredulous as he ran a hand through his red hair.

"Classified," Harry and Megan replied in unison. The presence of Ersilia's coven in England was being kept confidential on Kingsley and Robards's orders.

"What happens if you lose?" Joseph asked. Hermione angled her head toward him, finding furrowed brows and a somber expression.

"I'll stop bothering him about it," she said. It sounded even more pathetic than the first time she had offered it to Malfoy.

"That's … what kind of negotiation was that?" Harry looked nonplussed. "Doesn't matter—duels are not standard protocol for consulting contracts, Hermione. At least in the DMLE."

"I know," Hermione moaned, rubbing at her aching temple with her free hand. She could feel the heat creep into her face. "I don't know what I was thinking. He's just—just—"

"A git," Ron nodded solemnly.

"Maybe it'll work?" Lavender offered, giving Hermione a sympathetic expression. "If you want him on this classified case. Hermione's quite good at dueling. Aren't you?"

"I—yes, but—"

"She's brilliant," Ron cut in. He looked thoughtful. "Maybe itcouldwork. At least for entertainment."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Harry muttered, thrumming his fingers against the leg of his trousers.

Hermione nodded. "It'snot—"

"Hang on," Ron cut in again. "Remember when Malfoy challenged you to a duel, Harry? First year? And then he didn't show, and we almost got caught by Filch and Mrs. Norris? And then we found Fluffy."

"What?" Megan and Joseph said in unison.

"Three-headed dog guarding—er, something for Dumbledore," Ron clarified.

"What?" Joseph repeated.

"Doesn't matter," Ron replied. He turned his gaze on Hermione. "This could be payback!"

"I think a few other things have happened between us since first year, Ronald," Hermione scolded. "That's not the point. I already decided I'll call it off."

Ron looked unhappy, and then Harry surprised Hermione by saying, "Maybe it could work, though."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"Well … if Malfoy agreed to a duel, then itwouldbe good to have him on the case," Harry said, half to himself. He looked up into Hermione's gobsmacked expression and hastily added, "Not that you wouldn't be able to find—er, to handle the case on your own, Hermione. I'm sure you could do it with whatever placeholder partner we could assign to you. But if we could convince Malfoy to help … and it'll be easy for you to win a formal duel."

Megan, Ron, and Lavender all nodded in apparent agreement.

"There's no chance she'll lose?" inquired Ralph, his first contribution to the debate.

"Nope."

"Definitely not."

"She'll win."

"No one'll beat 'Mione."

Ralph looked surprised and gave Hermione a pleased, appraising look. Joseph let out a small chuckle under his breath.

"Winning aside, I thought it was an ethical issue," Megan countered from beside Harry, quirking a brow in amusement.

Harry winced. "This isn't happening on Ministry property, is it?"

"It'll be Wednesday night at the Dueling Arena," Hermione replied, and then she hissed, "but it's not happening!" Had they all lost their minds?

"You're right. Malfoy probably won't show," Ron agreed. "Git."

Hermione rolled her eyes. That wasnot at allwhat she meant.

"Did you formally challenge him?" Joseph asked.

"Well …" Hermione thought back to her words and what she knew of wizards' duels (a lot). Her wordinghadbeen that of a standard formal challenge. "Perhaps."

"Draco Malfoy is as pureblood as they get, right?" Joseph inquired around the table, to firm and vigorous nods from all involved. "My pureblood mother, at least, always said a wizard's duel is not something to take lightly, and if I were ever challenged and accepted, to refuse afterward would be tantamount to disgrace."

"You know … he's right. It's part of the culture," Ron added. "Malfoy's not an eleven-year-old git anymore. He's an adult git, and he's head of his family. If the duel was agreed to, then he'll be there."

Hermione's chest tightened. "It's not right. I'm going to call it off. I'll stop bothering him, and the investigation will happen one way or another." She let herself bemoan the idea of her and Terry staking out locations with suspected vampire activity for long nighttime hours and shuddered.

"Well, if it's happening at a private location, then it's not like there's a law against it," Harry hedged. "Maybe it's best to follow through."

"Harry," Hermione scolded. "It's unethical."

"Is it, though?" Harry countered.

"Yes."

"'Mione," Ron cut in. "Joseph did have a point. Wizard's Duels are pretty standard, in the scheme of things."

"Definitely legal," Megan agreed.

"What's the Dueling Arena?" Joseph asked.

Harry and Ron explained the existence of the private club to the uninformed Megan, Joseph, and Ralph while Hermione spiraled. She couldn't duel Malfoy. Well, she could. She beat Theo reasonably easily while still recovering from a life-threatening explosion. Malfoy might be better than Theo—Hermione had no clue of their relative abilities—but Hermione was back to full strength now. But could she bring herself to fight Malfoy?

… She couldn't.

"Could I get into the club?" Joseph asked. "If this is happening, I'd be interested in attending." He lightly rubbed the small of Hermione's back with his hand. She felt uncomfortable but did not move away.

"Guest passes," Harry nodded.

"Oh," Hermione said as something struck her. She looked over to Ralph, who had been quietly observing the conversation. "Ralph, are you still looking for a job?"

Ralph frowned and shifted nervously as if embarrassed by the admission. "I am."

"The Dueling Arena is looking for a—" Hermione debated on how to word it, confident that someone like Ralph would balk at the title of a receptionist. "—front of the house. A check-in wizard and bodyguard. I think Theo prefers a strong, bouncer-type individual. I could introduce you if you're interested."

Ralph listened intently and did not look uninterested. He gave Hermione a slow nod. "Sure. Thanks."

"Thank you, Hermione," Joseph told her, smiling. "That's so considerate. Maybe we could go on Wednesday before your duel?"

Hermione's stomach sank. "I'm not dueling Malfoy."

"But 'Mione," Ron whined. "You'll trounce Malfoy! It will be glorious. Please?"

"No," Hermione rejected firmly.

Hermione was not going to duel Malfoy.

Two Days Later—
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
The Dueling Arena

Hermione was about to duel Malfoy.

Hermione sat on a wooden bench in the women's locker room of the Dueling Arena, surrounded by sleek black lockers and the inescapable feeling of dread. Ginny stood behind her, working Hermione's short hair into French braids on either side of her head.

"This is a terrible idea, isn't it?" Hermione asked for the tenth time that evening.

Ginny chuckled as she charmed an errant curl to tuck into the braid pattern behind Hermione's left ear.

"You don't have to do this, you know. No one truly cares about duel etiquette. It's not like you two are competing on the professional circuit." Ginny rubbed Hermione's shoulders and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. "All done."

Hermione sighed and stood, turning to face her friend. Ginny was casual that evening, in dark leggings and a blue cotton dress. She had stayed at the Burrow since the championship, enjoying some downtime until the Harpies season resumed in the fall. The team had, indeed, asked her back on the roster.

"You look the part, at least, whether you decide to duel or not," Ginny told her, gesturing to the nearby mirror.

Hermione moved to gaze at her reflection and was slightly startled at what she saw. With her hair braided back, her face looked naked. She felt exposed without her familiar curls wild about her face.

Her outfit, she had to admit, was a bit imposing. It was a version of her nighttime Auror's gear that she had taken to wearing in her capacity as a "Special Interdepartmental Consultant." She wore tight black trousers with tall boots of soft leather; instead of a long-sleeved shirt, Hermione wore a white tank top, exposing her upper arms. On her left arm, she had her wand tucked into a black leather holster that covered her scar. She had decided to forego a robe. Even the charmed ones got in the way more often than not.

"You think?"

"You look bloody incredible. I'm sure Joseph will be salivating."

Hermione winced and turned away from her reflection. When they arrived at the DA earlier, she introduced Ginny to Joseph. Ginny liked him—of course she did. Everyone liked Joseph; he was perfect. He was supportive, even of this ridiculous dueling plot.

Hermione felt ill about the entire situation.

She stepped toward Ginny and said softly, "I'm not sure …" Hermione trailed off, shocked to find her eyes pricking.

"Hey," Ginny said, her eyes widening in alarm. She embraced Hermione and rubbed small circles between her shoulder blades. "It's alright."

After a few minutes, Ginny pat Hermione on the back and guided her to sit back on the bench. She also sat and said, "I've been getting the sense that Joseph is not the one."

Hermione sighed deeply. "It's complicated."

"It always is," Ginny murmured. "But don't force yourself into something because you think he's nice. … Live your life, Hermione."

Hermione nodded. "I know."

And she did know. Joseph was not her boyfriend; they had not had any conversation of that sort. But he did not deserve a messy, flaky, emotionally confused person to date. She desperately wished she could talk about Malfoy with someone, but she wasn't ready. She wasn't sure she could talk about it, even with herself. The duel made her feelings all the more confusing.

She looked over at Ginny to find her friend somberly caressing the edge of the bench. A wave of guilt washed over Hermione. This was Ginny, someone who had dated Harry—her best friend and coincidentally The Nicest Person in the World—for years, only to break up under circumstances that Hermione still did not fully understand.

Maybe Hermione understood better than she realized.

Hermione reached over and rubbed Ginny's shoulder. "Thank you."

Ginny looked up and smiled. "Ready, then? It's almost eight."

Hermione and Ginny stepped out of the women's locker room into an energy-filled space. The Dueling Arena was far more crowded than Hermione had ever seen it. Her first instinct was to freeze, overwhelmed by the prospect of being imminently scrutinized, but Ginny gave her a nudge, and they moved forward together.

The vaulted ceilings amplified every laugh, every raised voice until it was difficult to make out any conversations. To their right, the three raised dueling platforms stood in a row, their wood surfaces polished and glinting.

Beyond the platforms, the flying cages lined the back wall with their sharp, metallic bars, and the semi-private dueling boxes lined the far edges of the space to their left.

Hermione's gaze darted through the crowd, picking out familiar faces. Across the room, Padma and Parvati Patil stood with Lavender, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas. The familiar timbre of their voices rang out as they appeared to exchange stories. Near the end of one of the extended platforms, she spotted Harry and Ron deep in conversation with George. George gestured animatedly, and as Hermione watched, a small pouch of coins exchanged hands. She narrowed her eyes. What was that about?

A light tap on Hermione's shoulder startled her, and she turned to find Joseph and Ralph standing just behind her. Joseph's warm smile spread across his face as he pulled her into a brief hug. "Ready, Hermione?" he asked, stepping back to look her over. "You look prepared for battle."

Hermione managed a smile, though her stomach churned. "Yes, I suppose so," she replied. The words felt forced. She avoided meeting Joseph's eyes.

She knew she should be honest with him about everything—about Malfoy, about how this duel was the latest event in several months of her spiraling toward insanity—but it did not feel like the time.

Ginny glanced between them, the corner of her mouth lifting knowingly. "Well, I'm going to chat with my brothers. See you in a bit." She gave Hermione a quick squeeze on the arm and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Hermione with the werewolves.

Ralph said nothing, his stoic gaze sweeping the arena like a sentinel. Hermione glanced at him and then remembered. "Oh! Ralph, I was going to introduce you to Theo. Shall I look for him now?"

Ralph raised an eyebrow but nodded once. Joseph grinned. "That would be great! We still have some time before you take the stage."

Hermione smiled faintly though her heart wasn't in it. She turned and began weaving through the throng of attendees, Joseph and Ralph close behind.

A familiar voice carried over the din as they approached the men's locker room directly opposite the space. Hermione's brow furrowed, and she slowed, straining to make out the words.

"It's the duel of the season, folks! Hermione Granger versus Draco Malfoy! Hermione Granger: Ministry hotshot, Order of Merlin recipient, FIRST class, savior of the magical world, and brightest witch of the age, so they say. If you've ever met her, you'd know it's true! And then we have Draco Malfoy! He's a member of the pureblood land-owning gentry. He makes potions. A reformed felon—but well, that hardly matters now. You know him. Ten-to-one odds on Hermione, but don't underestimate Draco—he's crafty!"

Hermione groaned. Theo stood on a chair near the men's locker room entrance, and Ernie Macmillan fumbled with suspiciously clinking velvet pouches beside him. Theo's curly dark hair flipped dramatically as he gestured to the small groups around them.

"Step right up and place your bets! That's right—the Gryffindor Princess takes on the Slytherin Prince."

Hermione stopped in her tracks, pinching the bridge of her nose. Theo, George, and the rest of the DA were turning this farce into a spectacle. She caught Ralph's amused and slightly skeptical look out of the corner of her eye. Joseph was grinning.

"That him?" Joseph inquired.

"That's Theo," Hermione confirmed unhappily. She was tempted to march over and hex Theo into silence but resisted the urge. What would have been the point if George, Ron, and Harry had been up to something similar with their covertly exchanged coins?

"How about ten Galleons for you to stop this nonsense?" Hermione called, her voice cutting through the buzz of the arena.

Theo's head snapped toward her, and his face broke into a wide grin. "Hermione!" He leaped down from his makeshift perch, landed with surprising grace, and embraced her enthusiastically. He smelled familiar, though Hermione could not put her finger on it. She allowed herself to nuzzle into Theo's arms for a second longer than necessary.

"You look perfect," Theo said as he pulled back to examine her, his eyes sweeping her up and down. "Precisely what I imagined."

Hermione arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms and glancing toward Ernie, who was marking down a number on a ledger as a witch handed him a galleon. "How many bets have you collected, then?"

"You heard that, huh?" Theo winced at Hermione's stern expression. "A few … But not nearly as many as the Weasleys!"

She groaned, the sound coming straight from her chest. This entire thing was a colossal mistake. Her gaze drifted over the crowd, searching. Where was Malfoy? Maybe she could convince him to call this off if she could find him. The thought filled her with relief and dread—relief at the idea of ending the duel, and dread because how would she bring herself to ask him if she hadn't even dared to owl him in the last two days?

A pointed cough brought her back to the present. Joseph stood beside her, his expression patient but expectant.

"Oh! Theo, this is Joseph and Ralph," she said, gesturing to the two werewolves.

Theo turned his attention to Joseph, extending his hand. "Lord Avery, eh? A pleasure to meet you."

Joseph shook his hand with an easy smile. "Joseph. I'm not much one for titles, Lord Nott."

"Truly? A shame. I love a title," Theo replied cheekily, though Hermione noted his expression had sobered.

Theo turned to Ralph, offering his hand. "Sorry, Ralph. I've not heard of you."

Ralph shrugged, his face impassive, and he shook Theo's hand and released it. "I'm not someone people hear about, am I?"

Hermione cleared her throat, eager to steer the conversation. "Theo, are you still looking for a front desk person?"

Theo tilted his head. "I am."

"Well, if you'd be open, Ralph would be interested in interviewing," she said. "He's—er…" She trailed off, realizing with a jolt how little she knew about Ralph.

Joseph stepped in smoothly. "Ralph is observant, hyper-vigilant, physically strong, and intimidating when necessary. All useful traits for crowd management at a private club, I imagine." He paused, then added lightly, "But if it wasn't obvious, we're both werewolves. So, if that will be an issue—"

Theo waved the concern away. "I like to consider myself a friend of Hermione Granger. So, no, that will not be an issue."

Hermione blinked at Theo's words and felt a bud of warmth bloom in her chest.

Turning to Ralph, Theo gave him an appraising look. "Your walking, talking character reference is very compelling. … How do you feel about decorative fountains?"

Ralph looked at Theo with mild confusion before responding, "Pro."

Theo grinned. "You're hired! Trial basis. Can you start tomorrow?"

Ralph nodded, and Theo clapped his hands together. "Meet me outside tomorrow afternoon. Say, two o'clock."

For the first time in the short span Hermione had known Ralph, she saw him smile. It was small but genuine, and Joseph clapped him on the back as Ralph and Theo shook hands again.

Joseph then turned to Hermione and, without warning, pulled her into a fierce hug. He lifted her off her feet and spun her around, and Hermione's stomach swooped. She felt weightless, suspended between exhilaration and fear for a brief moment.

When Joseph set her down, her hand instinctively found his shoulder. "Can we talk?" she asked softly.

The arena's noise faded slightly as Joseph tilted his head, his warm smile shifting into something more thoughtful. "Of course."

Hermione and Joseph moved to a quiet pocket against a nearby section of the DA's wall. Despite the exposure, the muted light from the sconces made their huddle feel intimate. Joseph was still smiling, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"So," he began, leaning against the wall. "What's on your mind? You've been quieter than usual since you returned from France."

Hermione's throat tightened. She had rehearsed this conversation in her mind for the past twenty-four hours, but now that she was standing before Joseph, the words felt wrong. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her.

"I almost died last month," she blurted. Her script vanished into the ether.

Joseph blinked, the easy smile dropping. "I know. The explosion."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, and … someone did die—at the attack at the Quidditch gala. We caught Rowle, but it was terrifying. Death Eaters are back after almost ten years. I've just been … overwhelmed. More than I realized, I think." She glanced down at her hands. "And … I shouldn't have rushed into this with you."

Joseph's face softened, though she could see the disappointment behind his steady gaze. "Hermione, I told you I wasn't in a rush. I get that your life is busy—mine is, too. And who wouldn't be overwhelmed with everything you've been juggling? I'm not asking for anything complicated. Just … to get to know you."

"I know," Hermione said quickly, guilt washing over her. "And that's what makes this so difficult. You've been kind, and understanding, and patient, but—I'm not in the right place for any of this."

Joseph tilted his head slightly, studying her. "Is it just the timing?"

Hermione swallowed hard. She knew what Joseph meant, but the answer was much messier than he realized. Images of Malfoy flashed unbidden in her mind—his smirk, his sharp retorts, how he'd looked at her across his lab table at Nott Manor. She felt a pang of irritation at herself.

Why couldn't she just let it go?

"It's everything," she finally replied. "The timing. My work. I need to figure some things out before I can even think about—" She gestured vaguely, her words faltering.

"Before you can think about us," Joseph finished quietly.

Hermione winced, feeling the full weight of his disappointment. She forced herself to meet his gaze. It was painful. His eyes, slightly wrinkled at the corners, showed everything. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lead you on."

Joseph let out a sigh, running a hand over his short-cropped hair. "I don't think you did. I just thought we had a good thing starting, you know?"

"We did," Hermione said earnestly. "We … do." Her words felt flimsy and pathetic in her mouth.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Nearby, Theo was gesturing animatedly at Ralph, who looked bemused. The arena's noise seemed to swell around them, pressing against the awkwardness of their conversation.

Joseph broke the quiet with a small, rueful laugh. "I was half expecting you to tell me you're dating someone else. You had been so distant. … This almost feels worse."

Hermione's stomach dropped, but she forced a weak smile. "No. It's nothing like that."

Joseph studied her face, then nodded. "Okay." He straightened, his expression settling into something carefully neutral. "If you ever figure it out—whatever it is—and decide you're ready, you know where to find me."

"Thank you," Hermione said softly. "And I hope we can still work together on my legislation when I get a Wizengamot date again."

"Please reach out if you ever need any help, Hermione." Joseph nodded and stepped back, giving her a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You're always helping people—me, my pack, other werewolves and magical beings. You just got Ralph a job! God, it seems like Theo is planning Ralph's career trajectory over there."

Hermione managed a faint laugh. "That's Theo for you."

"It's all due to you. So, thank you." Joseph gave her one last look before rejoining Ralph and Theo. Hermione watched him go. Her chest was positively aching.

She leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes and allowing the cacophony of the arena to flood into her eardrums.

Everything Hermione had done recently—Godric, practically over the lastyear, if she really thought of it—felt like a series of messy mistakes. She felt like she was stumbling through her life and career. Her House Elf legislation and promotion at the Ministry had been a significant high, that was true.

But then: the Arrow Coven; breaking up with Terry; moving in with Harry at Grimmauld Place; throwing herself wantonly into every available case at the DRCMC, from merfolk to fwoopers to stray krups; fighting, hard, to get the Lupin Bill on the Wizengamot's docket. And then the spiral: Queen Helia's cryptic message; getting injured with Daniel and ending up at Nott Manor; the first werewolf attack; the Victory Ball and the Night of Terror; Harry; her leave of absence; rune stones and stakeouts and Terry again and dress robes and tabloids and Joseph and Quidditch and France and the eclipse and Rowle and—and—

—and Malfoy.

Malfoy everywhere. … A steady wand charming debris from her hair; champagne glinting in steel grey eyes; words of encouragement in a dark alley; a monogrammed vial clutched in her palm; hot breath cascading over her lips; a warm hand on the skin of her back.

Hermione couldn't think. Who was Hermione Granger if she could not think—if she could not make sense of her reality?

"What is happening?" Hermione hissed sharply, eyes still closed.

"I believe you're about to fight me in a public forum, Granger. Do try to pull yourself together."

Hermione's eyes shot open, and she found Malfoy standing before her.

Hermione possessed enough self-awareness by that point to understand that Malfoy looked very good. It was unfair. His dark trousers were tailored perfectly, showing off long legs and a lean frame that Hermione began to realize was no stranger to dueling. His white button-down shirt was crisp, the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal muscular forearms and a wand holster that matched her own over his left arm. A simple black robe fell over his shoulders, and pristine dragon leather boots gleamed faintly under the arena lights.

He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression calm and reserved, which only fed her indignation. Of course, Malfoy would look this composed and unbothered while she felt like her nerves were fraying at every edge. Her stomach tightened, and it was not only because of the duel.

But—the duel! This was her chance.

"Malfoy," Hermione rasped. She cleared her throat and stood straight, pushing herself off the wall. "I apologize for how I handled the … situation on Monday."

She looked at Malfoy's face and found it stony and unreadable.

Then, he seemed to chew the inside of his mouth. It caused his skin to stretch slightly over his cheekbones. They were prominent. Hermione wanted to rub her thumbs over the planes of his face.

"You still have no need to apologize to me, Granger. You formally challenged me, set a date, time, and location, and now I have arrived. Standard protocol." Malfoy shifted in his boots and tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

"Nevertheless," Hermione replied, eyes focused on the leather of his wand holster visible beneath the rolled-up cuff of his sleeve. "My challenge was hasty. If you are amenable, I would be willing to work this out another way."

"You don't want to duel?" Malfoy asked. A single blonde eyebrow quirked up toward his hairline. His hair, once again, was loose about his ears. It curled slightly. It looked soft.

Hermione blinked. "Of course I don't."

Malfoy looked irritated, then. "This was your insane fucking idea."

"I know."

"There's a crowd here!"

"I know."

"Theo has been collecting bets."

"He is so foolish—"

"You're favored to win."

"Fuck the bets!" Hermione exclaimed with a wild wave of her arm. She froze, then, surprised at her crude language. Malfoy gaped at her just a bit. His lips were parted. Hermione swallowed nervously. "I don't care about the duel. … Will you please consult on the case? Just one week to start. One day! One day, Malfoy. We could take it day by day."

Hermione held out her palms, almost a gesture of supplication. It took all her will to keep her eyes trained on Malfoy's. They were beautiful eyes. In the flickering light from the wall sconces and from her distance away, they looked almost black. Malfoy was a wizard of reserve and privacy, but Hermione sensed that his eyes betrayed him. She wasn't sure precisely what Malfoy's eyes were saying at that moment, but she wanted to learn how to read them.

The longer they stared, a frightening, unknowable thing within Hermione began to morph and grow. Then Malfoy spoke.

"No."

Hermione breathed in sharply. "Why?"

"You challenged me, Granger. I'll see you there."

Malfoy spun on his heels and left her standing alone.

The DA looked different from atop the dueling platform. Hermione hadn't noticed during her prior duel with Theo. She could see all: from the broom section to the cloakroom and bar; the locker rooms at either end; over the tops of the dueling boxes to the staircase leading up to the foyer and courtyard.

She felt small, and she felt ill.

Malfoy was on the opposite end of the platform. Theo murmured to him, their contrasting heads of hair leaning close together. Malfoy peaked at her, and Hermione hastily spun around to face the wall.

She found Harry clambering onto the platform on his knees.

Harry stood and dusted off his blue jeans before facing Hermione. She bit her lip and fingered the handle of her wand, which peeked out from her holster. Harry gave her one of His Looks, the open, supportive one he was so good at, and then he opened his arms.

Hermione smiled weakly and hugged him.

"You didn't ask, but I've appointed myself your second," Harry whispered into Hermione's ear.

"It's not that kind of duel," Hermione replied after pulling away. "But thanks."

Hermione swept her gaze around the gathered crowd, spotting Ginny, Lavender, Parvati, and Padma in a gaggle close to her end of the platform. Luna was absent; purportedly, she and Rolf still searched for the red tricorn in Tanzania. The other women waved at her excitedly, and Hermione waved back. Ginny gave her a thumbs-up.

"This is a mistake," Hermione said through clenched teeth.

"Probably," Harry agreed, causing Hermione to look at him sharply. She eased when she found an amused twinkle in his green eyes. "Not the worst we've ever had, though."

"Certainly not. What do you think our worst mistake has been?" Hermione asked while suppressing a laugh.

"Too many to count—"

"Mine's putting cat hairs into my Polyjuice second year," Hermione said with a smile. "Obviously."

Harry barked out a laugh and then sobered a bit. "Following the desiccated and possessed body of Bathilda Bagshot alone inside an unfamiliar house. Christmas Eve, 1997."

They looked at each other and then burst into loud and raucous laughter. The crowd around them stilled and gazed up at Hermione Granger and Harry Potter laughing together—the two of them, as it so often had been.

"Promise you'll still love me if I make a fool of myself?" Hermione asked as the worst of her nerves began to tremble in her chest.

"Always."

Harry descended the platform. Hermione steeled herself and then turned around. Malfoy stood alone, looking at the black wood panels of the platform floor. His hands remained in his pockets.

He looked just as lost as Hermione felt. That irritated her. She had asked forone dayof his time—and he refused. What a git! She glared at him, attempting to convey her anger across the many meters between them.

Malfoy looked up and faced her. He stilled at the sight of her face, but then he nodded, almost in resignation.

Hermione's anger faltered. Why were they doing this?

Theo appeared as if from the ether, taking a prominent position at the center of the platform. He gave Hermione an encouraging smile and then turned to presumably do the same for Malfoy, though Hermione did not see his expression. Then, Theo swept his hands out wide and began speaking.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and other magical brethren, welcome to the Dueling Arena!" His tone was booming and jovial, carrying over the excited murmurs of the small crowd of a couple dozen people. "Members and first-time guests alike, we're delighted to host you this fine evening. Before we begin, let me remind you: if you're interested in pursuing weekly, monthly, or yearly memberships, please see me, George Weasley, Angelina Weasley, or Ernie MacMillan after the match. I'd also like to remind everyone that you signed a magical contract as you entered the facilities this evening. This is a private members-only club, and anything happening here is private, for members only."

A smattering of polite laughter rippled through the room, though the majority of the crowd was restless, their focus firmly on the duelists. Hermione glanced at Malfoy, who seemed entirely unaffected by the gathering tension. His eyes met hers briefly again, making her stomach twist.

"As for tonight's event," Theo continued, pacing theatrically along the centerline, "this promises to be a duel to remember! Two of Hogwarts' finest scholars have entered into a formal challenge. They were once—not too long ago—mortal enemies …" The crowd murmured appreciatively.

Theo stopped and gestured toward Hermione. "Hermione Granger, war heroine, brilliant witch, and the sole reason Harry Potter had the chance to stick it to the Dark Lord Snake-Face."

Hermione felt her face flush as the crowd whooped and clapped. She forced a tight smile and waved awkwardly.

"And on the other side," Theo said, pivoting toward Malfoy, "Draco Malfoy, former reluctant and not very talented Death Eater, current Potion Master-in-training extraordinaire, with a face that practically begs to be hexed."

The crowd erupted in laughter, and Hermione's lips twitched despite herself. Malfoy rolled his eyes and straightened his stance, looking unimpressed and faintly irritated at his friend.

Theo raised his hands again for quiet. "Now, we are dueling to unconsciousness or incapacitation only." He turned toward Hermione, raising a brow. "Remember that, Hermione. I know he has a very killable demeanor, but please refrain."

The laughter was louder this time, and Hermione shook her head with what she hoped was a convincing smile. She tightened her grip on her wand.

Theo stepped back, his dramatic pause hanging heavy in the air. "First—the shaking of hands."

Hermione's heart stuttered. She hardly thought they needed to follow formal dueling protocol. Nonetheless, she gathered her courage and walked toward the center of the platform, where Theo and Malfoy also approached them.

Theo looked back and forth between Hermione and Malfoy. No one moved. Theo smiled and muttered through his teeth. "This is when you shake hands."

Hermione sighed, sheathed her wand, and reached out her hand toward Malfoy. He hesitated and then took her hand in his, their thumbs intertwining as he gave it a single, firm shake before letting go. His hand fell tense to his side. He did not look her in the eyes.

Hermione dropped her arm. Her hand tingled and burned.

"Good show," Theo nodded happily. "Back to your positions!"

Hermione stalked back to her end of the platform. She spotted Harry and Ron, smiling with encouragement, at her direct end. Joseph and Ralph huddled at the wall. Joseph gave Hermione an encouraging smile that sent a pang through her chest, even from this distance away. She turned back toward Malfoy. It was time to face this punishment that she had designed for herself.

"Let's make it a clean fight," Theo announced, his grin wicked. "Wands at the ready!" And then he jumped down from the platform, leaving only the duelists elevated above the crowd.

Hermione and Malfoy unsheathed and raised their wands, gazes locking across the platform's expanse. The crowd's buzz faded into a low hum, and the only audible sound was the rush of blood in Hermione's ears.

Hermione felt every nerve in her body come alive. The sculpted wood of her wand was warm against her palm, and she gripped it tighter. Across the platform, Malfoy stood poised, his expression calm, his stance quite casual and relaxed. He looked at ease, almost like he'd done this a thousand times. Hermione wondered again how much experience he had as a duelist.

The arena was entirely silent for a single beat of Hermione's heart. Who would cast first?

The first spell came quickly, a sharp streak of blue light from Malfoy's wand, and Hermione flicked her wand instinctively to deflect it. The Protego barrier shimmered for a moment before vanishing. She retaliated with a Confundus Charm aimed to disorient Malfoy, but he dodged, moving smoothly to the side with a grace that belied the power behind his next spell.

"Expulso!" The curse burst from his wand and hit the platform before her, sending up a cascade of sparks and forcing Hermione to leap backward.

She countered with a volley of nonverbal hexes, each crackling as they sped across the space between them. Malfoy blocked most of them easily, though one singed the edge of his sleeve, the faint smell of scorched fabric wafting through the air. Their duel unfolded like a dance with sharp and purposeful choreography.

Hermione darted to the left, firing off a Full-Body Bind Curse that narrowly missed its mark—and then flew directly into the crowd, hitting Seamus Finnegan right in the forehead. Hermione winced as she watched her former housemate fall rigid to the ground.

"Spectators! Be vigilant!" Theo cried over the din as Hermione watched Dean quickly revive Seamus.

Hermione should not have gotten distracted. Malfoy spun on his heel, wand slashing through the air as he cast a series of fast-paced charms that looked like Stunning Spells. She blocked two but had to duck to avoid the third, her heart racing as the spell zipped past her and fizzled against the arena wall behind her.

The platform began to bear the marks of their exchange, scorch marks and cracks appearing where spells had collided. The crowd surged with every close call, gasping and shouting.

As they continued to exchange spells, a dreadful realization came over Hermione.

Malfoy was holding back.

His hexes always flew just slightly off-center. His stunners were too easy to deflect. His spells barely made a spark when they hit Hermione's shields. His first casting had been strong—but Malfoy had done that, it seemed, to play into the spectacle.

Hermione remembered that Malfoy, for better or worse, had learned from the darkest and most deranged wizards of their era: his father Lucius, Severus Snape, Bellatrix Lestrange, and perhaps even Voldemort himself.

He was holding back.

She deflected another spell, sending a quick Stinging Hex in response. It grazed his shoulder, an easy block he should have managed, but instead, he let it hit. His reaction—a faint wince—only stoked her anger further.

"Fight me, Malfoy!" she shouted, her voice sharp and cutting through the crowd's murmurs. "What are you doing?"

A jeer came from the spectators, and Malfoy's relaxed facade cracked. His scowl deepened as his grip tightened on his wand. For a moment, their eyes met across the platform, and Hermione thought she finally recognized something real in his inscrutable eyes—annoyance, perhaps. Good.

And then he attacked in earnest.

The shift in intensity was immediate. The next spell he cast zipped toward her with alarming speed, forcing Hermione to spin to the side to avoid being hit. She countered with a nonverbal Knockback Jinx, sliding neatly into anExpelliarmusthat forced Malfoy to sidestep quickly, his boots skidding slightly on the smooth platform.

Hermione found herself smiling. Finally, a worthy opponent. Her blood thrummed with the rush of the duel, the sharp crackles of magic in the air, the rhythm of their back-and-forth. Whatever else she thought of Malfoy, he was a skilled wizard; his spells were clever and calculated, and his movements were quick and elegant.

It wasn't enough, though, not for Hermione. She knew she could win, especially if Malfoy still held something back. It would be easy to push him to the edge, to force his hand.

But as another spell clashed against her shield, Hermione began to feel uneasy.

Hermione wondered about Malfoy—the reluctance and resignation she'd seen earlier in his posture and eyes. For someone who'd once loomed so large as her bully and adversary, he was almost painfully human to her now. Intelligent, competent, and frustrating in equal measure.

The thought came to her suddenly, a moment after she sent a Stinging Hex at his platinum blonde head: Shelikedhim.

"Finish him, 'Mione!" Ron's voice rang out from behind her, breaking through her thoughts.

Hermione's breath caught. The crowd roared with encouragement, egging her on, but the sound faded to a dull hum in her ears. She felt the sharp edges of her earlier anger soften into something else—guilt.

This was wrong.

Hermione thought of the investigation into Ersilia's Coven and the weight of what she'd been asking of Malfoy. It wasn't just a matter of him spending some time consulting on a case; it was asking him to confront something traumatic from his past. She had no idea what lay behind his refusal, but his resistance had been more than a stubborn desire to deny Hermione what she wanted. Malfoy had reasons she didn't fully understand for not wanting to seek Ersilia. It wasn't her place to force him—not at all, and especially not like this.

Malfoy's next spell came—another oddly weak stunner, the red color faint to the point of imperceptibility—and Hermione decided. She didn't dodge. She didn't block.

She leaned into it.

The light hit her chest, light as a feather compared to what it could have been, and Hermione let herself fall, hitting the ground with a practiced thud. She didn't move, breathing slow and shallow as she let her wand slip from her fingers.

Up Next: Draco wants answers.