It starts in the courtyard after your Charms class, when Hermione slams her book shut and looks at you with that fiery determination she only gets when she’s about to prove a point.

“You think you can beat me in a duel, don’t you?” she says, crossing her arms.

You blink. “Hermione, I literally said, ‘You’re good at this.’”

“Yes, and your tone implied I could be better.”

“…What tone?”

“The tone,” she insists, pointing at you like she’s accusing you of a crime. “The one that says you’re humoring me.”

You stare. She stares back.

Then she smirks.

“Fine. Prove it. Duel me. After dinner. Training courtyard.”

You gape. “Hermione, are you serious?”

She steps closer, chin tilted up, eyes glowing with challenge.

“Deadly.”

She shows up early.

Of course she does.

Hermione stands in the courtyard adjusting her wand grip like she’s about to take NEWTs early just for fun. There’s a breeze, her hair slightly wild, her expression sharp.

You feel your heart do a weird, traitorous flip.

When she spots you, she gives a little half-smile. “Thought you might chicken out.”

You scoff. “I’m brave. And reckless. And probably stupid. So here I am.”

“Good,” she says. “Let’s begin.”

“Expelliarmus!”

She fires first — absolutely no hesitation — and you barely block it.

“HEY!” you shout.

Hermione huffs. “In real duels, you don’t wait for the other person to bow and compose a speech!”

“You could’ve killed me!”

“It was a basic disarming charm, stop being dramatic!”

She’s laughing now, even though she’s trying to hide it, and you feel the warmth of it like a spell itself.

You fire back — “Rictusempra!” — and Hermione dodges with surprising grace, hair flying.

“Unfair!” she cries.

“Says the girl who attacked first!”

“That wasn’t an attack, that was strategy!”