The Hogwarts duelling arena stood, proud and firm, a round colosseum of solid oak, far away from the normal hustle and bustle of the school, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Its complex sets of privacy and safety wards made it ideal for the violent sport held within. The roof could be closed and opened at will, to better accommodate the ever changing and volatile Scottish weather. In three years time it would be used to host the first event of the triwizard tournament, but it wasn't dragons that Hermione Granger, standing as she was in a group of other Slytherins, would be facing today.
No, today she would be facing Harry - her lord, her best friend, the boy who had introduced her to the wizarding world, the most amazing person in the world, and the wizard who she knew would triumph over evil and usher in a bright new age… his age.
Oh, and Nott too.
Romulus Volf walked up to a raised platform and turned to look down at the group. "Alright! Listen up!"
The group stopped talking among itself and gave Volf their attention.
"I only take the best, so just because you made the team last year, doesn't mean you'll make it this year! And don't think that just because you have powerful friends that means you're going to get a free pass!" Volf glared at her.
She blanked her face and stared back.
"The duelling team will be made up of one person from each year. In the tournament, the first years will face off against each other and the winner will then face the other team's second year duellist, and so on, until one side has all seven team members defeated."
The assorted Slytherin's watched, stony eyed.
"Each year's slot will be decided by a straight knockout tournament. We're going to work our way down from the top. Since the seventh and sixth year slots have already been decided, fifth years will be first."
Some of the older boys straightened, fingered wands, and generally gave the impression of chomping at the bit.
"One last thing." Volf's eye's became hard. "Memories of the tryouts are not to be gifted or traded to anyone ! Not even your lord or head of house. If I find anyone has done so, they'll be kicked from the team, the club, be in detention for the whole year, and be liable to have an accident."
The group collectively nodded their heads.
"Right, fifth years! Let's go!"
Hermione made her way up the rows of seats that lined the lower arena. A moment later, she was joined by Heir Nott, much to her surprise. Nott hadn't taken the news of her being a muggleborn well. It was hardly surprising, given the games she and Daphne had played with him on the Hogwarts Express.
"Feeling confident, Mudblood?"
She turned her head to look into the boys eyes, then turned back to arena where the first bout was about to start. "That depends on what you mean."
Nott growled. "I mean, do you really think that a faking mudblood like you stands a chance against a real heir of a noble house?"
Hermione didn't look back at him. Instead, the lights and shouts of the combatants below, now fighting for the coveted year slot, held her gaze. "Yes," she answered.
Nott didn't reply for a moment. "If you didn't have Lord Slytherin protecting you, you'd be nothing ."
She again slowly turned to Nott and smiled. "But I do, which must mean I am something."
Nott scowled. "So why aren't you all confident then?"
Hermione frowned and let her eyes travel past Nott to where Harry sat a third of the way around the arena, alone and isolated.
Nott turned to follow her gaze. "Potter?" He sounded incredulous. "What in Merlin's name are you worried about him for? He was raised by muggles! The Potters thought he was a squib! He hasn't been to a single duelling club meet-up!"
She raised an eyebrow.
Nott rolled his eyes. "You're different. Everyone knows you and Heiress Greengrass receive secret training from Lord Slytherin."
"And yet, he beat Daphne in defence."
Nott frowned.
Hermione turned back to the duellists below. "I have my suspicions about Potter. Something about him feels different. Maybe you've missed it, caught up in the drivel that Professor Snape spouted at the start of year."
Nott said no more and turned forward to watch the older duellists, occasionally shooting furtive glances towards Harry.
Eventually, the first years were called down.
Volf motioned to them. "Granger and Nott first. Then Potter versus the winner."
Hermione couldn't fail to notice the look of intense dislike on Volf's face when addressing both her and Harry, although more for her than her lord. She walked back until she and Nott were approximately twenty to thirty metres apart, turned, and waited.
Volf held up a hand. "Standard duelling rules… Begin!"
Hermione moved left.
Nott ran right.
Spell chains flew between the two, flashes of lightly shaded reds, blues, pinks, and greens dancing between the two combatants, combatants who skilfully dodged and shielded to avoid the hostile magic.
Nott tried to quickly close the distance, but Hermione kept running further away, occasionally making use of an arena obstacle to frustrate the Nott heir.
All too quickly, Nott's casting speed slowed, and now Hermione went on the attack. For a full three seconds, Nott was pummelled by an opponent twice as powerful as himself, barely able to hold on, before Hermione too slowed, and the match became a war of attrition, a war that Hermione had the clear advantage in. Not only was there a mild power difference between herself and Nott, it was also clear she was superior, not only in skill, but also in physical endurance.
Less than a half dozen spell chains after she'd exhausted the magic in her wand and body, and started drawing magic straight from her core, Nott fell to the ground, and didn't get up.
Volf raised his hand, scowling. "Winner, Granger."
Hermione let out a breath and turned to the stands to rest up.
"Where do you think you're going, Granger?"
She turned. Volf was grinning, while Nott, now revived, nursed a bruised arm.
Behind Volf, Harry shrugged apologetically.
Oh, so that's how it was.
She turned back and sighed. It wasn't like she had any real chance to win anyway, but it would've been nice to duel Harry on fair terms. Apparently Volf wasn't as confident in Harry as she was.
She retraced her steps to the starting position.
Harry faced her, holly wand at the ready.
Volf raised his hand. "Standard duelling rules. Begin!"
Hermione sprinted towards Harry, throwing spell chains as she went. She knew full well that to beat a more powerful opponent you had to close the distance quickly or be defeated in a drawn out struggle like Nott had with her.
She didn't have very long. Eighteen seconds, exactly. That was how long she could cast at full power for. During that small timeframe, she could go toe to toe with a full adult wizard, and be at no handicap. In fact, given the high attunement she had with her wand, against many, she'd even be at an advantage.
Harry however, didn't retreat like she'd done with Nott. He matched her spell for spell, and when she got within the duelling dead zone, the range at which dodging became nigh-on impossible, Harry flicked his wand at one of her invisible tripping hexes, and swatted it back at her.
She didn't even have time to curse. The hex hit her, she tripped, red filled her view, and she knew no more.
When she came to, Harry offered her his hand. She took it, looking annoyed on the outside, but secretly cheering within. Volf raised his hand, looking very smug. "Winner, Potter!"
Harry nodded.
"-And now!" Volf continued without missing a beat. "I distinctly remember you, Potter, saying you could take on the ENTIRE Slytherin duelling team."
The other Slytherins who'd secured their places ambled over. One idly twirled his wand.
"Time to put your money where your mouth is." Volf turned to the assembled group. "You've heard it people! Potter here thinks he's better than us! He's been boasting for months!"
The group scowled.
"He's going up against the lot of us, extended class B rules, one after the other, no breaks, if he faints, we revive him, if he gives up, he's off the team. We stop only if it looks like he might die!"
Hermione looked to Harry who was smiling. She barely succeed in not smirking herself.
...
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