Two Malfoys in one day—definitely more than enough

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 silent Protego. 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 crisp Expelliarmus soared in overlapping arcs.

Caught off-guard, Lucien could not muster a proper response in time.

He evaded the stunner, barely managed to deflect her petrificus 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 at Flectere 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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Chapter 91: Champion Showdown

Chapter 92: One Step Away

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Chapter 99: Dumbledore knows