The Second Task
Hermione stood at the edge of the training room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She watched intently as Seamus squared off against Harry, her mind racing with the tension of the duel. It wasn’t just the duel that had her on edge—it was the bubbling frustration that had been growing between her and Seamus over the past few weeks. Ever since their first task together, Seamus had taken to calling her his “lucky charm,” and at first, Hermione had found it somewhat amusing. But as time passed, it started to feel more like an insult than a compliment.
The worst part wasn’t even the constant references to her supposed “luck” being the reason for his success, but the fact that Seamus seemed to believe it. The more he attributed his victories to her, the less Hermione felt like he was acknowledging his own hard work or skill. It was as though he’d stopped trusting in his own abilities and started relying entirely on the idea that she would somehow magic away his difficulties.
Now, here they were: Seamus, her friend, her colleague, standing in the middle of the training room with his wand drawn, facing off against Harry—one of the most skilled Aurors in the Ministry. Hermione had spent the past few weeks working with Seamus on his dueling technique, trying to help him become more focused, more precise, but all he could talk about was how his “luck” would pull him through. And as Harry took his stance, calm and ready, Hermione couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Seamus still wasn’t fully trusting in himself.
“Alright, Hermione!” Seamus called over to her with a grin, his voice full of exaggerated enthusiasm. “This is it! Time for my lucky charm to work her magic again, right?”
Hermione rolled her eyes, her fingers digging into her arms as she stood with a stern look. “Seamus, this is a duel. You’re supposed to be relying on your skills, not some ridiculous superstition,” she replied, trying to keep the irritation from her voice.
He only shrugged, clearly unbothered by her response. “Hey, you’ve gotten me out of worse situations before. I’m counting on you!”
Hermione’s gaze flickered to Harry. He was standing with his usual air of calm concentration, his wand poised, ready for whatever Seamus might throw at him. She had seen Harry in action countless times and knew just how formidable he could be. Seamus, despite his bravery and optimism, was nowhere near as experienced. It wasn’t just his skill she was worried about—it was his lack of self-confidence.
The duel began with an electric crackle of energy. Harry’s movements were a blur, each one calculated and precise, his wand flicking effortlessly through the air. The spells he cast came fast and furious—bright flashes of light and sharp bursts of magical force. Seamus reacted just in time, but his movements were far less graceful. He stumbled back, his feet skidding on the smooth floor as he tried to maintain some semblance of composure. A bright red light shot past his ear as Harry sent a Stupefying Charm in his direction. Seamus barely managed to dodge, his face a mix of determination and panic.
"Come on, Seamus!" Hermione muttered under her breath, her hands clenched tightly in front of her. She knew Seamus was brave, but this wasn’t bravery—it was recklessness. He kept hoping for a stroke of luck, but luck alone wasn’t going to be enough to win this duel. Harry wasn’t giving him an inch.
Harry’s next move came in a seamless flow—he flicked his wrist and sent a series of rapid-fire hexes. "Expelliarmus!" one after another, each spell designed to keep Seamus on the defensive. The first one narrowly missed Seamus’s chest, the force of it knocking him back into a stack of training mats. Seamus scrambled to his feet, his breathing quick and shallow, his brow drenched in sweat. His footwork was sloppy, and his reflexes weren’t quick enough to match Harry’s speed.
Hermione’s stomach turned with frustration. She could see Seamus' eyes darting around the room, searching for something outside of himself to help him. A quick glance in her direction, and she saw it—Seamus wasn’t looking for his own strength. He was looking for her. For that ‘lucky charm’ that he believed would somehow pull him through.
"Focus, Seamus! This isn’t about luck!" Hermione shouted, but her words were lost in the rush of the duel. Seamus wasn’t listening. He dodged another spell, but his foot caught on the edge of a rug, sending him tumbling forward. He barely caught himself with his hands, but by the time he regained his stance, Harry was already prepared for his next move.
Harry’s eyes were sharp with concentration as he raised his wand, casting a quick "Leviosa!" that sent Seamus’s legs into the air. Seamus crashed back to the floor, the air knocked out of him as he tried desperately to recover.
"Come on!" Seamus muttered under his breath, trying to pull himself back to his feet. His eyes flicked toward Hermione, the words coming out almost as an instinct. "Hermione! My lucky charm—where are you when I need you?"
The words stung. Hermione’s heart clenched at the sound of his voice, pleading for something she couldn’t give him. He was asking her to fix it. To step in and make it right, just like she always had. But this time, it was different. He wasn’t supposed to need her magic. He wasn’t supposed to need any charm. He had the skill inside him—it just wasn’t coming out. Not when he kept relying on the belief that luck could save him.
Seamus looked around helplessly, but Harry was already on the move again. With a flick of Harry’s wrist, another Disarming Charm shot through the air, and before Seamus could react, his wand flew from his hand, spinning across the room and landing several feet away. Seamus stood there, frozen, staring at the spot where his wand had fallen.
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She could see the moment Seamus’s confidence shattered—the spark in his eyes fading, replaced by a frustrated helplessness. His mouth worked, trying to speak, but the words came out with none of the conviction he had shown before.
“Come on!” Seamus muttered, his voice strained, still not fully accepting defeat. He turned toward Hermione, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Hermione! My lucky charm—where are you when I need you?”
The pain in his voice cut deeper than she expected. This wasn’t just about the duel—it was about everything that had come before, everything he had ever asked of her. She had never wanted to be his talisman, his constant source of luck. She had never wanted to be the reason he succeeded or failed. She wanted him to rely on his own strength, his own potential, to see that he was capable without needing to fall back on her.
Before she could respond, Harry lowered his wand, his posture softening.
Before Hermione could say anything, Harry lowered his wand, his expression one of quiet understanding. He walked over to Seamus, offering a hand with a grin that never seemed to waver, even after his quick victory. "Don't worry about it, mate," Harry said, his voice warm with encouragement. "You’ll get the next one. Just focus on your technique next time."
Hermione couldn’t help but notice how Harry didn’t bring up “luck,” not once. He didn’t need to. Harry had always been someone who believed in hard work, skill, and preparation—qualities that Seamus had in abundance but seemed to forget when he placed all his hope on something as intangible as luck. The contrast between Harry’s belief in hard work and Seamus’s reliance on superstition made her stomach turn with frustration.
Seamus, however, didn’t seem to notice. He smiled that familiar, cocky grin of his and turned toward Hermione, as if nothing had changed. He was undeterred, still full of that infectious optimism despite his defeat.
“Well, I can’t say I didn’t give it my best shot,” Seamus said, his voice light, a twinkle of mischief still in his eyes. He was trying to brush off the loss, trying to turn it into another opportunity for laughter. “But it’s alright, I’m telling you—it’s that ‘lucky charm’ of mine that’s the problem! You’ve got to be around for the big stuff, Hermione! Next time, I know I’ll win!”
Hermione’s jaw clenched, and something inside her snapped. She had been patient for weeks, had tried to help him see that his constant reliance on her was a crutch. But now, hearing him again dismiss his own potential, blaming her for his failure, was more than she could take.
With a deep breath, she stepped forward, her eyes locking onto his. Her voice was low but firm, laced with the frustration she had been holding back for so long. "Seamus," she said, her tone sharp, "I’m not your lucky charm. You need to start believing in yourself, not in some silly superstition. I can’t keep doing the work for you. You’re capable, but you have to actually try."
Seamus blinked at her, clearly taken aback. His grin faltered for just a moment, replaced by confusion as if he didn’t fully understand what she was saying. She could see it in his eyes—he had always relied on her strength, on her wisdom, her presence. It was a role she had accepted willingly at first, but now, it felt as though he had stopped seeing her as a friend and more like a talisman—someone to be depended on only for his victories.
Hermione’s heart ached at the thought, but she pressed on, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "You don’t need luck, Seamus," she continued, her voice softer but still resolute. "You need to stop relying on me to fix everything for you. You’ve got this. Believe in yourself."
There was a long pause. The words seemed to hang in the air between them, heavy and unresolved. Seamus stood there, his brow furrowed, his usual buoyant energy now replaced with a rare moment of introspection. Hermione could see him struggling, trying to reconcile the image of himself as a lucky fool with the reality of the situation. He was used to being the optimistic one, the carefree friend who had an answer to everything, and Hermione knew this wasn’t easy for him.
Finally, Seamus let out a long, slow breath. His eyes flickered with realization, but the stubborn glint that had always been there remained. "Alright," he said with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’ll work harder next time. But you know, I might still need a bit of help from my lucky charm now and then."
Hermione let out a frustrated sigh, her shoulders slumping in resignation, but the tension in her chest eased slightly. She could hear the sincerity in his voice now, the acknowledgment that maybe—just maybe—he was starting to understand. But that old belief in her as his “lucky charm” was still there, stubborn and unshakable. She didn’t know if it was something ingrained in him, something deeper than just superstition, but it was clear he wasn’t ready to let go of it.
“You’re impossible,” Hermione muttered, but despite her words, the edge of irritation in her voice had softened. She couldn’t help but smile a little at Seamus’s persistence. His grin returned, but this time, it wasn’t the same cocky, overconfident smile from before. It was more genuine, less assured, but there was something new there—a flicker of self-awareness, a hint of growth that hadn’t been there before.
“I know,” Seamus said, his grin turning more self-deprecating. “But come on, Hermione, you’ve always been there for me. I can’t exactly forget about you now, can I?”
Hermione’s heart softened at that. He was trying—trying to reconcile his belief in her with his own insecurities. But despite her frustration, she couldn’t ignore the fact that Seamus was still holding on to that comfort, that feeling of security she provided him. He didn’t want to let go of the idea that he could always count on her to come through for him.