Harry drummed his fingers lightly against the worn surface of the Gryffindor table, the low hum of the Great Hall a comforting backdrop to the morning.
At his side, Fleur quietly sipped her pumpkin juice, while Neville and Hermione engaged in hushed conversation, leaning in towards one another with warmth evident in their eyes.
Ash lay coiled around Harry's neck, glancing around and making nearby students flinch.
As a faint clink of cutlery echoed from down the table, Harry caught Ash's mischievous voice hissing near his ear. "Do you think they serve mice for breakfast here?"
Harry couldn't stifle a small smile as he translated for the others, prompting a laugh from Neville and a long-suffering eye-roll from Hermione.
"Honestly," Hermione murmured, shaking her head in mild exasperation. "If anyone else heard you casually discussing rodents at breakfast…" She trailed off, a half-smile quirking at her lips. Neville chuckled, reaching over to gently squeeze her hand, as Fleur arched a graceful eyebrow.
"So, is Ash feeling particularly hungry today?" Fleur teased.
She leaned forward, gaze flitting between Harry and the snake. "Perhaps we should take him to the duelling competition so he can test his strike on unsuspecting students?"
"Better not," Harry said, holding back a grin.
Ash's prideful hiss filled Harry's ear, forcing him to stifle another laugh. "He says he'd be happy to defend my honour… and his own," Harry translated, noting Hermione's wry shake of the head.
Before long, talk of the competition reached a crescendo around them.
The Great Hall gradually emptied as witches and wizards, all brimming with anticipation, made their way to the arena.
Harry finished off his toast, wiped a few stray crumbs from his robes, and rose with the others.
"Shall we?" Neville asked, offering Hermione his arm. She linked hers through it, looking bright-eyed and eager for the day's events.
Fleur tilted her head, her silvery hair catching the morning light. "Are you coming, Harry?"
"In a moment," he replied. He lightly tapped Ash's scaled coils. "I want to take Ash to the Chamber first. I doubt the professors would be pleased with aduelling snake."
Hermione and Neville nodded, barely holding their laughs in, and Fleur gave Harry a bright smile.
"Just don't be late," she said and stopped, smirking mischievously as she added. "Otherwise, you may lose your chance to compete and people might think that you got cold feet."
Harry simply raised his eyebrows challengingly as Fleur and the other two joined the flow of students heading out.
Lingering only long enough to watch them disappear in the jostling crowd, Harry set off at a leisurely pace towards the second-floor girls' lavatory.
Normally, he would have just flashed there, but something in him longed for a quiet walk.
The corridors seemed to stretch out before him, and each step felt easy and almost calming.
Halfway down a wide corridor, Harry felt a subtle tingle in his awareness.
His magical senses tingled as something entered hiszone—the minimum range where he allowed his senses to extend.
Instinctively, he slowed his pace.
Someone was following him, their magical signature faint yet unmistakable.
'I know this person.'
A flicker of tension tightened in his chest, though curiosity soon overshadowed it. Fumbling briefly in the depths of his enchanted pouch, he withdrew the Invisibility Cloak, its silvery folds shimmering under the torchlight.
Moving with quiet efficiency, Harry slipped the Cloak over himself and his snake familiar.
"What isss happening?" Ash asked with a low hiss.
"We're expecting trouble," Harry whispered back, his voice barely audible even to himself.
He could sense the magical presence drawing closer, though its identity remained frustratingly unclear.
Keeping perfectly still, he pressed himself against the cool stone wall, grateful for the Cloak's additional auditory concealment.
Beneath the hidden folds, Harry held his breath, waiting.
Footsteps, measured and cautious, echoed off the stone floor.
Slowly, a figure came into view.
Τall, robed in black, with greasy hair pulled taut around sharp features.
Severus Snape.
Harry felt a pang of surprise, layered with the memory of cold sneers and snide remarks from Potions lessons.
After his ritual transformations and changed timetable, he hadn't attended any of Snape's classes, and he didn't immediately recognise the man's magical signature.
'Snape always struck me as the skulking sort, but this is just odd,' Harry thought, watching the professor's dark robes billow around the corner.
And yet, here he was, seemingly determined to track Harry's movements.
Ash's hushed hiss rose again. "I'll strangle him. Let's give him a taste of his own medicine."
"Don't move Ash," Harry murmured, stifling a wry smile.
They let Snape stride past them unimpeded, footsteps receding into the distance until silence reclaimed the corridor.
Once sure the man had gone, Harry emerged from beneath the Cloak, smoothing its soft fabric before placing it back into his pouch. "Well, that's interesting," he said quietly.
Ash's tongue flickered against Harry's neck. "Ah, master… You humans are too kind."
Harry shook his head slightly.
The thought of Snape following him stirred uneasy questions, some even pertaining to Dumbledore, but Harry tamped them down—there would be time to confront whatever had just happened later.
Turning on his heel, Harry slipped into a small, dusty classroom nearby.
The desks within were lined in neat rows, chairs stacked at the back.
Stepping into an open space at the front, he felt the familiar crackle of phoenix fire flow through his veins, and in the blink of an eye, the room dissolved around him in a burst of brilliance.
Cool, damp air greeted him.
The Chamber's ancient stones glistened beneath the faint luminescence of the artificial light coming from somewhere above.
Harry gently lifted Ash from his shoulders, placing the snake on the floor.
"Behave yourself," Harry said softly, ruffling the top of Ash's head with an affectionate hand.
Ash gave a languid swish of the tail in return, "It all depends on the chicken."
Harry couldn't help but shake his head exasperatedly.
With one final glance to make sure all was well, Harry summoned the phoenix fire once more.
He expected to materialise in the midst of a bustling crowd, but, when he stepped into the massive arena, he found it surprisingly empty.
The massive stands and bright banners, each representing a school, loomed around him
'Huh. No one's here yet,' Harry thought with a frown, scanning the empty arena.
He cast a tempus—still twenty minutes before the competition was set to begin.
With a small shrug, he paced towards the closest duelling circle, letting his mind wander back to Snape's peculiar behaviour earlier.
'I wonder if Dumbledore put him up for it,'he thought dryly, picturing the man's scowl as he realised that he lost track of Harry.
Time slipped by in gentle increments until, at last, the distant clatter of footfalls broke the silence.
A few older students appeared at the main gates, pausing when they spotted Harry.
They offered befuddled greetings, which he returned with an easy nod, then slowly dispersed to claim seats in the stands.
Soon, clusters of students arrived in animated groups, laughter and hushed excitement bouncing across the arena as they took their places.
Professors made their entrance next.
Flitwick walked along the field's edge, casting the occasional wand movement to adjust wards or check the boundary lines.
Makarov's stern countenance loomed behind him, while Faure glided across the pitch.
Harry found himself drifting to the side, stepping behind a tall, conjured bracket board that someone had set up against the stands.
He took a moment to study the swirling text that organised the names of participants into neat columns and lines.
He spotted his own neatly etched near the top—H. Potter (Hogwarts)—paired with the name of an unfamiliar opponent from Beauxbatons.
Harry focused on his senses, trying to find Fleur's magical signature in the growing crowd.
Her presence felt like a warm glow amidst the jumble of magical signatures, distinct and familiar.
Just as he turned to her location, a voice called out.
"Harry! Over here!"
Harry caught sight of Neville and Hermione waving him over. Fleur stood just behind them, her hair glinting in the sunlight.
"You're early!" Neville observed with a grin, looking Harry up and down. "Didn't expect to find you in the arena all by yourself."
Harry shrugged, attempting a nonchalant expression. "Yup." He paused, locking eyes with them.
"I noticed that Snape was following me and I flashed into the chamber," he remarked.
Hermione and Neville exchanged worried glances at this revelation. "That's rather concerning," Hermione whispered, her brow furrowing.
"Indeed," Fleur agreed, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
"Don't worry too much about it, I'm sure it's nothing," Harry said dismissively and looked at his oldest friend. "How are your preparations coming up?"
Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly. "I've been practising all week. Nonverbal casting still trips me up sometimes, but I'm determined to manage at least a couple spells that way."
Neville's grin broadened as he fiddled with his wand. "We'll see how it goes. If I lose quickly, I will probably still learn something from it."
Fleur rested a hand on Harry's arm, her gaze skimming across the stands. "Did you check the brackets?"
He nodded, remembering the unfamiliar name beside his own. "I'm up against someone called Renée Rousseau."
Fleur's eyes lit with recognition. "Oh—Renée's talented, rather swift with Charms. She's also quite tall, so watch out for wide spells that catch you unawares." There was a hint of pride in her voice. "Still, you'll be fine, I'm sure."
"Attention, students!" Professor Flitwick's amplified voice rang out across the stands, drawing all eyes to the centre. "If you're competing, please gather near the bracket board for an explanation of the competition's rounds!"
Neville gave Hermione a quick, encouraging squeeze. "Ready?"
She took a long breath, shoulders stiffening with anticipation. "Yes. Let's do this."
As the four of them moved towards the bracket board, the rest of the arena seemed to rally behind them.
Durmstrang students huddled around Makarov, casting glances at their rivals; Beauxbatons students formed tidy groups around Faure, muttering in rapid French; and a small flock of Hogwarts participants waited, eyes shining with excitement.
Once everyone formed a loose semicircle, Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. "Your brackets are posted here. The rounds will be single-elimination, a single duel determining who moves on," the diminutive professor explained, his tone growing more serious.
"Remember, this is a friendly competition—no dangerously offensive spells, and no seriously harming your opponent!"
…
Neville allowed a soft sigh to slip from his lips as he glanced at the list of opponents tacked up near the entrance of the duelling arena.
After a tense moment of scanning the stone, he spotted his name positioned beside that of Seamus Finnigan.
Relief and trepidation swirled within him in equal measure.
On the one hand, he felt somewhat comforted that his first adversary was a familiar face. On the other, he couldn't ignore that Seamus had a remarkable knack for making things explode—accidentally or otherwise.
Muttering a quick prayer to Merlin, Neville walked towards the designated duelling circle marked with a large number four.
The circle itself was roughly four metres across, giving them just enough room to manoeuvre. Seamus was already there, looking uncharacteristically relaxed as he waited, wand in hand.
Neville couldn't help an anxious flutter in his stomach as he imagined himself accidentally blown to bits by one of Seamus's wayward blasts.
Neville's train of thought derailed the instant Seamus turned with an exaggerated expression of surprise.
"Yer jokin', right?" Seamus exclaimed, successfully halting the grim images that had been dancing through Neville's mind.
"Er—what's up?" Neville asked, knitting his brows in confusion.
"Merlin's beard, Neville. You're me opponent!" Seamus said, his voice carrying across the short distance between them. His tone suggested he wasn't entirely prepared for the match-up.
"Yeah, so?" Neville replied, a sudden suspicion creeping into his voice. He had a fair idea of where this was heading.
Seamus let out a short, exasperated laugh. "Dunno, mate. It's just… well, yer not exactly brilliant, are you mate?"
For a moment, Neville felt a rush of heat flood his cheeks. It didn't matter how many times he'd been underestimated before, it still stung like a fresh wound every single time.
His grip tightened around his wand until his knuckles went white, and he swallowed hard to keep his temper in check. He thought bitterly that Seamus might have been right a year ago, but so much had changed since then.
He was determined not to let anyone belittle him any longer.
"Well," Neville said in a controlled, measured voice, "I suppose you'll just have to see for yourself,mate."
Something in his tone made Seamus pause.
The other boy merely gave a nod and adopted a carefree smile, evidently waiting for the match to begin. Their brief conversation ended as Professor Flitwick's voice—amplified by a Sonorus Charm—echoed across the makeshift arena.
"Students, students! May I have your attention, please?" the diminutive Charms Master called out, cutting cleanly through the chatter around the ten duelling circles and the stands. "A most momentous occasion is upon us. Today, we'll see if all those duelling sessions have managed to get through your thick heads!"
A wave of laughter rippled through the assembled students, and Flitwick offered them a playful grin. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Now, the bracket board over there"—he gestured towards a tall stone contraption—"will update after each duel, showing who's won and assigning the victor their next opponent. Keep an eye on it!"
Before the students could descend into another round of excited gossip, Professor Markov, taller and more imposing beside Flitwick, stepped forward. His deep, resonant voice boomed across the arena. "All right, everyone. Bow to your opponent."
Neville and Seamus approached the centre of their circle and bowed. Neville felt a flash of irritation when Seamus gave only the barest tilt of his head in return.
Nonetheless, Neville stood upright and moved to his side of the circle, determined to keep his temper in check.
"Begin on three," Markov instructed, his tone firm.
Neville fixed his gaze on Seamus, calculating which spell the Irish boy might attempt first.
"Three…"
"Two…"
"One…"
No sooner had Professor Markov's final word faded than Seamus lunged forward with an all-too-familiar cry.
"Expelliarmus!"
A streak of scarlet light shot towards Neville, who deftly sidestepped it. Without missing a beat, Neville retaliated with a sharp flick of his wand.
"Luminara!"
A brilliant burst of light engulfed Seamus, leaving him no time to react.
He stumbled, blinded and dazed, and crumpled outside their circle.
Neville remained braced for a counterattack for half a heartbeat before realising his opponent was well and truly out.
"Arrogant bastard," Neville mumbled under his breath, exhaling sharply as he glanced around at the other circles to assess the progress of the duels nearby.
He couldn't help a flicker of pride as he noted that of all the pairs, he and Seamus were among the first to finish.
Shaking off the lingering swirl of adrenaline, Neville reflected on Seamus's earlier taunt.
Perhaps the boy had expected an easy victory, but as Neville stood there, wand still at the ready, he felt more than satisfied that he'd proven his dorm-mate absolutely wrong.
A ripple of movement in a nearby circle drew his attention.
Hermione, wand still raised, was facing Draco Malfoy.
The Slytherin stumbled back with a pained expression, clearly bested.
Hermione's smile—equal parts triumphant and relieved—flickered across her face.
Malfoy slunk away, scowling and muttering under his breath, but Hermione ignored him as a few spectators applauded softly.
Neville tore his gaze from the scene and glanced at the bracket board Flitwick had indicated.
Sure enough, clusters of names shifted and realigned in a blur of swirling text. He waited, wand in hand until a fresh update showed him his next challenger.
C. McLaggen (Hogwarts), at circle number two.
"Cormac," he murmured. The older Gryffindor was known for his mixture of brash overconfidence and occasional flair.
Neville steeled himself, suspecting that McLaggen would be tougher than Seamus—he was older, a self-proclaimed Quidditch hotshot, and someone wholovedshowing off his skill.
As Neville made his way over, Cormac was already in position, rolling his shoulders with an air of nonchalance.
"Well, Longbottom," he greeted, spinning his wand idly between his fingers, "I heard you took down Finnigan in a blink. Surprised, but… guess we'll see if that fancy flash spell of yours can takemeby surprise."
Neville refused to let Cormac's bravado unnerve him. "Sure," he replied shortly, preparing his stance.
At Markov's signal, both duellists bowed—Cormac, rather unexpectedly, dipped lower than Seamus had—and then retreated to opposite edges of the circle. A hush fell over the onlookers in anticipation.
"Three… two… one…"
Cormac wasted no time.
He unleashed a quick volley of hexes, each spat forth with more speed than Neville had anticipated.
Neville gritted his teeth, brandishing his wand in a swift arc.
Protegoflared to life in front of him, shimmering with azure light.
Cormac's hexes slammed into the barrier, sending out sparks that crackled around Neville's feet.
Reeling from the force, Neville countered with the same blinding spell as before.
"Luminara!" he cried.
But Cormac appeared to have anticipated exactly that, throwing an arm across his eyes.
He rolled away from the flash with surprising agility, reacting far more smoothly than Seamus had.
With a deliberate flick of his wand, he unleashed a flurry of stinging jinxes that zipped through the air like angry hornets.
Neville ducked and sidestepped, struggling to maintain balance as he tried to repel the onslaught.
'He's good,'Neville conceded, mind whirling.'He knew I'd go for the flash.'
Cormac angled his wand sharply, sending a Leg-Locker Curse spiralling at Neville's feet. Neville just managed to hop aside, heart pounding like a drum against his ribcage.
"Petrivolans!" he shouted, the syllables rolling off his tongue.
Instantly, Neville's wand belched forth a cluster of small, jagged stones.
They hurtled across the circle, hammering towards Cormac.
The older student's eyes widened in shock.
He attempted to throw up a Shield Charm, but two of the stones smashed into it, creating a thunderous crack that shattered the shield.
The remaining projectiles pinned Cormac's robes, leaving him effectively immobilised and reeling from the sudden impact.
A collective gasp rippled across the watching students. Even Professor Flitwick looked quietly impressed, his eyebrows arched in approval.
Professor Markov strode forward to assess the situation, raising a hand once he confirmed that Cormac was stuck fast.
"The winner is Neville Longbottom!" Markov's voice rang out in clear, triumphant tones.
Neville exhaled a shaky breath and released the stone restraints with a swift counter-charm.
Cormac shot him an incredulous glance, shaking loose a few stray rocks as he stood. Though annoyance tightened Cormac's features at being beaten by a younger peer, he managed a curt nod.
"That was… well done," he admitted, brushing grit from his robes before stepping aside.
With his heart thundering in his ears, Neville moved away from the circle, casting a glance towards Hermione.
Amidst the claps and cheers of other duels concluding, he saw that she had already bested her second opponent—a Durmstrang girl nursing a minor burn on her forearm.
Hermione offered her a conciliatory handshake, her expression quietly friendly yet undeniably confident.
'Always a step ahead,'Neville mused with a faint smile as he approached the bracket board again.
Streams of magical text roiled across its surface, updating winners and losers in a hypnotic display of shifting letters.
Soon, Neville's name popped up once more, this time paired with a Durmstrang sixth-year he recognised by sight but not by name.
Swallowing a fresh bout of nerves, Neville followed the directions to the specified circle.
The Durmstrang student towered over most of his peers, his posture both poised and powerful.
He offered Neville a courteous bow, which Neville returned, trying to steady himself.'The two duels back-to-back have worn me out,' he thought, biting the inside of his cheek to focus.
"Three…" Markov began again, his voice echoing through Neville's mind like distant thunder.
"Two…"
The Durmstrang boy's wand flicked almost imperceptibly, a silent spell already slicing through the air. Neville hastily raised a shield, the impact rattling his bones.
"One—begin!" Markov finished, although this one duel was already in motion.
The barrage that followed made Neville's earlier duels seem tame.
Spell after spell tore towards him, each cast silently and with impeccable accuracy. Neville tried to retaliate withPetrivolansagain, but his attempt was knocked wide by a violent blast that nearly wrenched the wand from his hand.
A sharp hex singed the edge of his robes, sending a bitter aroma of charred fabric into the air.
Desperate to regain his footing, Neville attempted a wordless Disarming Charm, but his concentration wavered under the unrelenting onslaught of hexes and curses.
The Durmstrang student brushed it aside effortlessly, pressing his advantage. Within moments, a powerful knockback jinx connected with Neville's midsection, launching him onto his back and knocking the wind from his lungs.
Gasping, he tried to scramble upright, only to see his opponent's wand aimed squarely at his chest. Professor Markov stepped forward, raising his hand in clear acknowledgement of the outcome.
"Victory goes to Durmstrang's Mikhail Petrov!" the professor declared.
Neville lay there for a second, the duelling circle's cold ground beneath him a stark reminder of how much further he had to go.
Though disappointment flushed his cheeks, a small part of him still simmered with pride. After all, he had proven himself in two matches, surpassing even his own expectations.
His opponent approached, extending a hand.
Neville accepted, allowing the older boy to pull him to his feet.
The Durmstrang wizard gave him a polite nod, which Neville returned, giving a rueful smile in reply.
Around them, the hum of students chatting, duelling, and cheering washed through the arena, and Neville caught a glimpse of Hermione glancing his way from a distance.
He noticed Hermione seemed to be preparing for yet another match—and from a quick glance at the bracket board, he realised she would be facing Cedric Diggory next.
Intrigued and still catching his breath, Neville decided to move slowly towards the stands.
…
While her boyfriend faced off against the Durmstrang student, Mikhail Petrov, Hermione found herself standing within a duelling circle marked with the number five.
The candles hovering overhead flickered against the high ceilings, and the air held that tense hush of anticipation Hermione had come to recognise during tournaments.
She let out a slow exhale, pushing aside her nerves as she fixed her attention on the figure opposite.
'Lucien Malfoy. I wonder if he is any better than Draco,' she mused privately, taking stock of every detail that might be relevant.
The boy's features—pale, blonde hair, grey eyes, and those aristocratic cheekbones—immediately brought Draco to mind, making her suspect that the French branch of the Malfoy family was not so different to the British one.
'And considering his performance at Beauxbatons' Ball, their mannerisms must be similar as well,' she concluded, remembering Harry's half-amused, half-irritated account of Lucien's behaviour.
'What was it that he said? Same arrogance, different accents.'
She overheard Lucien mutter something in quick, clipped French, and the phrase "se rabaisser à se battre contre des paysans" seemed to ring out just loudly enough for her to catch.
'The nerve! Did he say that he is lowering himself to fight against peasants?'
The blatant prejudice set her blood simmering; her knuckles whitened around her wand.
A cold determination solidified in her mind, warring with the spike of annoyance thrumming in her veins.
"Contestants, bow!" Professor Markov's firm voice resounded around the circle.
Hermione inclined her head, a controlled and polite gesture.
Lucien gave only the smallest nod in response, his sneering lips twisting as though the formality personally offended him.
They moved to stand at opposite edges of the duelling circle, wands raised.
"Three… two… one—begin!"
In an instant, the air thrummed with pent-up magic.
Hermione wasted not a second, flicking her wand in a silentProtego. Lucien's opening hex—a murky green shot—splattered against the shimmering barrier.
He followed up with a frenetic chain of spells, each crackling against her shield with force enough to make her forearm jolt.
'He's good and a handful times more vicious than Draco,' Hermione thought, setting her stance more firmly as she braced for what came next.
Lucien advanced with a sinuous flick of his wrist, wand cutting a complex arc through the charged atmosphere. A crackling beam tore through the space between them, forcing Hermione to sidestep in a neat spin.
'A nonverbal shieldbreaker?'
Her mind raced. She retaliated with a sharply enunciated, "Flectere Stellas!"
Silvery projectiles burst from her wand in a sparkling barrage, spinning in tight formation as they hurtled towards Lucien.
He let out a quick hiss in French and slashed his wand in a defensive manoeuvre; the shards battered his hastily summoned shield, sending glittering sparks bouncing around the boundary of the circle.
Rather than give him time to recover, Hermione pressed forward.
With a swift, wordless incantation, she conjured twisting flames of vivid blue that spiralled through the air like a venomous serpent. She felt a surge of triumph as she saw Lucien's face flash with alarm.
'Ignifors!' she named the spell in her mind, thrusting her wand to unleash the final wave of heat.
The flames burst across the circle in a coiled sweep that singed the pristine edges of Lucien's robes as he threw himself aside.
Her opponent promptly extinguished the flames with a powerful jet of water, though Hermione noticed the slight tremor in his wrist and the uncertain flicker in his eyes.
'Not so superior now,' she reflected, only to have him suddenly snap up his wand and fling a jarring curse at her flank. She barely managed to deflect it, sparks sizzling over her shield as tiny shards of stone exploded at her feet, jabbing her ankles with unpleasant force.
For several taut seconds, Hermione could do nothing but defend against Lucie's onslaught that came swiftly, each curse sharper-edged than the last.
She thought defeat was imminent until she caught the subtle hitch in his pattern—a slight overextension in his wrist after he feinted.
That was enough.
Holding her breath, she summoned a swirling gust of wind that staggered him backwards.
Then she released a slick chain of nonverbal spells—each simple in itself, but lethal in their rapid succession when combined. A stunner, a body-freezing jinx at a skewed angle, and a crispExpelliarmussoared in overlapping arcs.
Caught off-guard, Lucien could not muster a proper response in time.
He evaded the stunner, barely managed to deflect herpetrificus totalus, and got hit by the final spell.
His wand spiralled from his hand, clattering outside the duelling circle's boundary.
Fury and shame blazed across his features, but the fight was clearly lost.
Professor Faure glided over, raised her hand to confirm Hermione as the victor, and then moved swiftly to another match.
A smattering of applause rippled through the spectators.
Lucien, seething, snatched up his wand and stormed away, refusing to meet Hermione's eyes as she dipped her head in acknowledgement.
She breathed out a ragged sigh and let her wand arm drop, the adrenaline still pulsing in her limbs. That had been anything but simple—Lucien's skill nearly matched the arrogance he wore so proudly.
'Two Malfoys in one day—definitely more than enough,' Hermione mused, rolling her tense shoulders in an attempt to calm herself.
Movement across the duelling area caught her attention. Neville was in the thick of another match, his cheeks tinged pink as he stubbornly held his ground against Mikhail Petrov. She watched anxiously as a knockback jinx whipped him off his feet, and her breath caught in her throat.
Moments later, Professor Markov ended the match. Shoulders slumped, Neville offered Petrov a dejected smile but accepted the handshake with surprising grace.
'At least he looks all right,' Hermione told herself, relief coursing through her. She spared him a supportive nod, trying to catch his eye.
Her own name flickered overhead on the bracket board, the swirling text settling at last. She leaned forward, reading:
C. Diggory (Hogwarts), at circle number one.
'Oh come on… Really?' Hermione swallowed, feeling a little jolt of dread.
While she had never seen Cedric duel, she knew from the Triwizard Tournament's first task that his spellwork was consistently polished and effective. Still, she reminded herself that a loss would be a learning opportunity—and she firmly grasped her wand, prepared to give her all.
Crossing to the designated circle, she found Cedric already in place. Tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding that calm confidence for which he was so well-liked, he greeted her with a warm smile.
"Congratulations on your earlier wins, Hermione," he said, inclining his head. "You've been quite spectacular."
Despite her trembling nerves, Hermione felt her lips curve upwards. "Thank you," she replied, doing her best to keep her voice steady. "You don't seem winded in the least."
Cedric chuckled softly, stepping into the centre.
Professor Flitwick had perched on a nearby platform, ready to officiate. At his cue, both duellists exchanged respectful bows; both were deeper than Hermione's previous matches.
"Three… two… one…Begin!"
Hermione struck the first blow, flicking her wand to loose a silent stunner.
Cedric's response came in a blink; a gleaming Shield Charm materialised, dissolving her hex into harmless motes.
In the next heartbeat, he riposted with an impeccably timed Disarming Charm, and Hermione whipped her wand up, just managing to conjure a hasty, pulsing shield that devoured the red beam.
The two began a measured circling, wands poised, and a hush fell between them.
Hermione chose that moment to break the stand-off with a new attempt atFlectere Stellas. Yet Cedric was already a step ahead.
With a flourish, he summoned a torrent of water.
Hermione's eyes flew wide as her own spell was snuffed out by the surging wave; she threw up a shield, but the watery cascade pummelled it, sending cracks spiderwebbing across the shimmering surface.
'It won't hold,' she realised a heartbeat before the barrier splintered.
In a spray of droplets, she was buffeted sideways, her robes clinging uncomfortably to her skin.
Cedric closed in quickly, wand snapping into position. "Expelliarmus!"
The disarming charm flared with brilliant red light.
Hermione tried to brace but felt the grip on her wand loosen as the magic wrenched it from her fingers, sending it hurtling to the far edge of the circle. She gasped, stumbling back as the crowds cheered.
"The winner is Cedric Diggory!" Professor Flitwick declared with visible delight.
Applause rolled through the stands, and Cedric immediately lowered his wand, extending a hand in goodwill.
Hermione quickly retrieved her wand, her cheeks burning from exertion and the sting of defeat.
She placed a hand over her racing heart, trying to settle her breathing.
"That was a good fight," Cedric assured her, voice warm with genuine praise. "I'd wager there isn't a single fourth-year who could best you."
Hermione mustered a grin, forcing her composure. "You deserved the win, truly. Congratulations."
With that, she backed away to allow the next pair of duelists their turn, mind whirling.
Her mind went through every second of the match, dissecting it and trying to come up with ways to improve.
Swifter incantations were an obvious one and less predictable spells could do her wonders.
However, what she needed most right now was better counters to elemental onslaughts.
'So much to learn,' Hermione thought excitedly, brushing damp strands of hair away from her eyes as she headed up to the stands.
Neville, sporting a few scuffs on his robes but wearing a grin of relief, offered her a friendly wave.
Despite her disappointment, Hermione felt a small flutter of pride at having held her own so far, and she waved back.
.
.
.
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[d=i=s=c=o=r=d=.=g=g/NJ3WV9RVgR]
[p=atreon=.=c=o=m/Mr_0ne] or do a Google search of 'p=atreon Fake Violinist'.
Chapter 35: Champions Showdown
Chapter 36: The Impostor
Chapter 37: Ploys Uncovered