RUMOURS, RELATIONSHIPS AND RECKONINGS
In her third year, things were more tense than ever. The dark cloud of fear that had been looming over the wizarding world seemed to grow heavier with the rise of the new Dark Lord. In 1970, Voldemort began openly declaring himself as the Dark Lord, and he wasted no time in making his presence felt. His terrorizing ways spread across the country as he began killing Muggles, using his gang of Death Eaters to murder and turn some of them into Inferi. As if that wasn’t enough, he shifted his focus to Muggle-borns and those he deemed blood traitors.
The Dark Mark started appearing in the sky like a symbol of doom, a constant reminder that Voldemort was out there. Between 1970 and 1971, Voldemort personally killed hundreds of wizards, and that was just the ones he took care of himself. His Death Eaters carried out countless more murders, doing his bidding without question. He had spies in the Ministry, some officials under the Imperius Curse, and even the Purebloods who weren’t aligned with him were forced to throw coins into his coffers to stay protected. It wasn’t just terror—it was a campaign to seize control, and it was working.
Bellatrix Black joined the ranks of the Death Eaters, eager to prove her loyalty and to show her family just what she was capable of. She even went so far as to suggest that the family meet Voldemort, as though it were some honour to be bestowed. For Hermione Ara, however, the situation felt more dangerous than ever. In her first and second years, she had mostly ignored the rise of Voldemort’s power—she was younger then, a bit less aware of the implications. But now, as a third-year, she could feel the imminent danger, the hate, and the fear that filled the air. The wizarding world was changing, and not in any way that would be kind to people like Lily Evans or even Severus Snape. Or probably to no one.
Determined to protect herself, Hermione decided she needed to become better at duelling. The air in the chamber was thick with anticipation. Students, lined the walls, their faces illuminated by the flickering torches. In the centre of the room, two duelling platforms stood ready. Hermione, her wand gripped tightly in her hand, stood beside Danika, both facing the club's leader, a stern-looking fifth-year named Philippa Windsor. Azza leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, observing with a detached amusement.
"Welcome, new recruits," Windsor announced, his voice echoing through the chamber. "As you know, the Slytherin Dueling Club is not merely a pastime. It is a necessity. In these uncertain times, the ability to defend oneself is paramount."
Danika, ever eager, stepped forward. "We're ready to learn, Windsor," she said, her voice confident. "We've heard you're the best."
Flint smirked. "Indeed. Now, Black," he said, turning to Hermione, "you were particularly keen to join. What is your motivation?"
Hermione met his gaze, her expression firm. "I wish to improve my duelling skills," she stated simply. "And to be prepared for… whatever may come."
"A wise choice. You understand that this club is about more than just spells and incantations, don't you? It's about alliances. About knowing who to trust."
"I understand," Hermione replied, her voice steady.
Azza pushed herself off the pillar, her voice cutting through the tension. "Oh, do spare us the political drivel, Windsor," she drawled. "We're here to see some sparks fly, not listen to your recruitment pitch."
Windsor glared at Azza. “You’re just here to watch, Shafiq. Try not to disrupt the proceedings."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Azza said, a sly grin playing on her lips. "I'm just curious to see how long it takes for Ara to hex someone into next week."
Danika elbowed Hermione gently. "Don't mind her," she whispered. "She's just being… Azza."
"I'm not bothered." Hermione answered, and turned to Windsor. "When do we start?"
"Immediately," Windsor said, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "We'll begin with a demonstration. Danika, you'll be my opponent."
Philippa was playing a subtle game with Danika. Instead of overwhelming her with direct attacks, she was using feints and distractions. A flick of her wand sent a swarm of harmless, glittering sparks towards Danika, forcing her to raise her shield. While Danika’s attention was momentarily diverted, Windsor subtly transfigured a loose stone on the platform into a tripwire.
Danika, focused on deflecting the sparks, didn’t notice the change. As she stepped back, she tripped, stumbling slightly. Windsor seized the opportunity, sending a series of low-powered, but rapid, Impedimenta jinxes. Danika’s movements became sluggish, her reactions delayed. Windsor was playing with her, wearing her down, slowly and deliberately.
Hermione's eyes narrowed, analyzing the situation. She could see Windsor's strategy: a slow, methodical dismantling of Danika's defenses. Windsor was a predator, toying with her prey before the final strike.
"Danika!" Hermione called out, her voice sharp and clear. "Watch the ground!"
Windsor, momentarily distracted, glanced towards Hermione, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. That was all Hermione needed.
"Cornu Lingua!" Hermione shouted, her wand slicing through the air. A jet of emerald light shot towards Windsor, catching her off guard. Windsor's eyes widened as her tongue swelled, transforming into a grotesque, horn-like appendage.
"What—?" Windsor sputtered, her voice garbled and incomprehensible.
Danika, seizing the opportunity, levitated Windsor into the air, but this time she was prepared. She had learned from Windsor's earlier trick.
"Orbis!" Hermione cried, her wand tracing a complex pattern. The ground beneath Windsor rippled, and with a sickening thump, she was sucked into the floor, leaving only her head visible.
A stunned silence fell over the chamber. The other Slytherins stared at Hermione, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. Azza, however, let out a low whistle, a grin spreading across her face.
"Well, that was… efficient," Azza drawled, pushing herself off the pillar. "Bit unorthodox, perhaps, but certainly effective. Using her own tricks against her, clever."
Windsor, her face flushed crimson, struggled to speak, her horn-tongue flapping uselessly. Danika, still slightly shaken, lowered her wand, her eyes wide with surprise.
"Hermione," Danika breathed, "you… you saved me. And you saw her trick, too."
Hermione met Danika's gaze, her expression firm. "She was playing a game of attrition. A game you were losing. I intervened. And I payed attention to how she was playing."
"But… the rules," Danika stammered, glancing towards the stunned onlookers.
"Rules are for those who can afford to follow them," Hermione said, her voice low. "In dueling, as in life, strategy and survival take precedence."
She turned to the rest of the club, her gaze sweeping across the room. "Is there a problem?" she asked, her voice laced with a quiet threat. The silence that followed was her answer.
Rumours about Hermione began to spread almost as quickly as the stories of Voldemort’s rise. Her exceptional magical abilities for someone so young—along with her pureblood status—earned her the attention of her peers. Whispers followed her wherever she went. The comparison to Bellatrix was inevitable. People said she was devious, dangerous, perhaps even unhinged like her cousin. But Hermione didn’t care. She never gave a direct answer to these rumours. She didn’t deny or accept them. She simply ignored them. After all, people weren’t entitled to know her or her intentions. They weren’t entitled to her thoughts, her goals, or the magic she chose to use.
James Potter may be a different case to that statement.
One afternoon, during a study group in the library with Sirius, James, Remus, and—somewhat surprisingly—Azza, the tension that had been quietly simmering finally boiled over. They had been reviewing Defense Against the Dark Arts, discussing counter-curses, when James, in his usual easygoing manner, made an offhand joke about Hermione Ara’s state of mind.
"So, Hermione," James said with a teasing grin, flipping his quill between his fingers. "Should we be worried? You’re not going to go all Bellatrix Black on us, are you?"
Remus groaned, already anticipating the fallout, and Hermione’s expression remained carefully blank. She didn’t react, not outwardly, anyway. She was used to the rumours, the whispers, the way people looked at her as if she were some enigma waiting to crack. She wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of a response. Azza, however, did react.
"Maybe you should worry about your own mind, Potter," Azza said smoothly, not even looking up from the book she was skimming. "From what I can tell, there’s not much there to begin with."
James snorted, pretending not to be offended, but the tension shifted as Sirius narrowed his eyes at Azza. "Oh, come off it," he said, leaning back in his chair. "It was just a joke. No need to start insulting people over it."
Azza met his stare without hesitation, tilting her head slightly. "Oh? And why should I let it slide? You lot think you can say whatever you want just because you’re graced with Gryffindor bravery?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "News flash, Black, not everyone finds you and Potter as charming as you think you are."
Sirius grinned, almost as if he were enjoying the challenge. "Oh? And what are you going to do about it?"
Madame Pince, who had already been eyeing them suspiciously from behind the shelves, seized the opportunity. "OUT! All of you!" she snapped, swooping down like a furious bat. "This is a LIBRARY, not a duelling hall!"
The five of them scrambled to gather their things as Madame Pince practically chased them to the corridor, hissing about students with no respect for books.
The moment they were outside, Azza and Sirius turned on each other properly, but not with wands—just words.
"Posh brat," Azza sneered, folding her arms.
"Self-righteous pest," Sirius shot back, smirking.
"Overinflated sense of importance."
"Overinflated sense of yourself."
The insults flew back and forth, but strangely, there was no real malice. They weren’t actually trying to hurt each other. If anything, they seemed to be enjoying the argument, feeding off the release of it.
James, Hermione, and Remus exchanged glances.
"Should we... do something?" James asked, watching the pair with mild concern.
Remus just sighed, closing his book with a thump. "No," he said, already resigned to the madness. "Let them tire themselves out."
James gave one last glance at his best friend and the equally stubborn Azza before shaking his head. "Alright, well, I say we leave them to it, then. I’m off to see Lilyflower.”
And so, they did—leaving Sirius and Azza standing in the corridor, still throwing barbed words at each other, neither one willing to let the other have the last word. Hermione and Remus found themselves alone in the corridor. The quiet between them was comfortable, the lingering echoes of earlier tension finally settling into something calmer.
Remus shifted the book in his hands before glancing at her. "Shame you couldn’t come to Hogsmeade with us this time," he said casually, but with a careful tone. "I heard you went with Rosier instead."
Hermione’s face warmed, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. It wasn’t as if she had wanted to go on that outing. She just… hadn’t had a choice. "It wasn’t really my idea," she admitted, glancing away. "More of a family arrangement, if anything."
Remus raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate.
She sighed. "It was just to see if our families could draft a marriage contract."
To his credit, Remus didn't react dramatically—no wide eyes or poorly disguised disgust, just a slow nod, as if he were processing the information. "And?"
Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. "And it was an organized disaster of a date." She rolled her eyes. "First of all, we were chaperoned by the Carrow twins. Do you know how awkward it is to have two near-identical stone-faced guards following you around all day?"
Remus actually chuckled. "That does sound… intense."
"Then there’s Rosier himself," Hermione continued. "He’s handsome, sure, and we get along, but there’s nothing there. Not even a spark."
Remus tilted his head. "You don’t think he was interested in you either?"
She shook her head. "I’m fairly certain he likes Marianne Wilkes."
Remus considered this for a moment before letting out a slow breath. "So, no perfect fairytale match, then?"
Hermione snorted. "Not even close."
Something in Remus’ posture loosened, and though his expression remained neutral, she could sense the relief in the way his shoulders eased. It was subtle, but she noticed it all the same. Strangely, that realization made her feel lighter.
They spent the rest of the afternoon together, walking the corridors and talking about anything other than marriage contracts and awkward chaperoned dates. By the time Hermione returned to the common room, she felt at peace, as if the entire ordeal had been nothing more than a strange footnote in her life.
At dinner in the Great Hall, Hermione was mostly focused on her plate, absently picking at her meal while listening to the chatter around her. The tension from earlier had fully dissipated, leaving behind a comfortable lull in the evening.
Azza, sitting beside her, leaned in slightly. “So,” he said, voice low enough that only she could hear, “did the plan work?”
Hermione blinked, turning to him. “What plan?”
Azza smirked, spearing a piece of roasted potato with his fork. “Come on, don’t play dumb. I took advantage of Potter’s little comment to get you to stop looking at Lupin.” He shot her a knowing glance. “And to give you an excuse to be alone with him.”
Hermione stiffened, her mind racing to catch up. Had she really?
She narrowed her eyes. “You did that on purpose?”
Azza shrugged, unbothered. “Of course.” He popped the potato into his mouth, chewing leisurely. “You're trying too hard in the duelling club and in your studies, so I thought I'd cheer you up planning your first kiss, how it went?”
She looked away, her heart unexpectedly warm. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, though there was no bite to it. Azza just smirked again, victorious. But Hermione wasn’t really annoyed. No, if anything, she felt protected.
The sudden swell of applause in the Great Hall caught Hermione and Azza’s attention. They turned to see Sirius Black standing on one of the benches, dramatically throwing an arm around Marlene McKinnon as if he were some kind of victorious hero.
“My first girlfriend, ladies and gentlemen!” Sirius declared loudly, grinning as Marlene rolled her eyes but allowed the display.
Laughter and cheers echoed from the Gryffindor table, a few Slytherins sneering in distaste. Hermione felt Azza exhale sharply in amusement beside her.
From across the table, Regulus murmured, “He only makes fun of the Blacks,” his tone carrying a strange mix of mockery, resignation, and something almost fond.
Hermione turned to him, noting the way his lips pressed into a thin line, his usual composed expression betraying something deeper. She laughed lightly, nudging him. “Don’t be so hard on him,” she said. “You two should try to get along better. The three of us—” she gestured between them, “—are connected for life, whether you like it or not.”
Regulus held her gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his features. Finally, he sighed, as if considering her words. Then, without another word, he stood up and left for his dormitory. Hermione followed him with her eyes, only to notice that at the same time, Remus Lupin was also making his way out of the Great Hall.