In an abandoned classroom, the morning sunlight spilled across Hermione's hand as she gripped her wand.
She was focused intently, practicing on a monkey brain floating in a glass jar. The silver light at her wand's tip flickered, beads of sweat sliding from her forehead into her collar.
She was this close to success. Her magic had steadily probed the surface of the tissue, but when it brushed a faint thread of fear, her fingers trembled.
"What are you doing?"
Hermione froze, as if hit with a Body-Bind Curse, and spun around. Ginny stood in the doorway, holding half a Chocolate Frog, her eyes wide, locked on the sealed jar at Hermione's feet.
The potion inside the jar still rippled slightly, the monkey brain inside glinting clearly in the sunlight.
"Ginny! You…" Hermione hurriedly draped her robe over the jar, her wand waving behind her to erase any lingering magical traces. "What are you doing here?"
"The common room was too noisy, so I went for a walk." Ginny's gaze didn't leave the jar, her voice tight. "Is that… a brain? Are you practicing dark magic?"
"Of course it's not dark magic, it's…" Hermione hesitated, deciding against mentioning Legilimency. No one would want to see their classmate practicing that spell—it's why the Ministry regulated it so tightly.
So she pivoted. "It's a monkey brain. Professor Snape gave it to me."
Ginny looked thoughtful. "Does Harry know?"
"You can't tell anyone, especially Harry," Hermione pleaded, her voice trembling faintly. "I told him I'd already mastered this spell…"
Ginny pursed her lips, then set down her Chocolate Frog and stepped closer.
"I'll keep your secret," she said, her calm tone belying her thirteen years, "but you have to teach me some spells. Not stuff like Lumos—real ones, powerful ones, with some bite."
Hermione blinked, stunned. "Why would you need those? Ginny, you're a first-year. The spells from Charms and Transfiguration are plenty—"
"Not enough," Ginny cut her off, her fingers fidgeting with a button on her robe. "I need spells that can knock someone flat, ones that don't need much power, are quick, and hard to spot."
"That's impossible," Hermione said firmly, frowning. "Those spells are too dangerous. You're not old enough to control them—"
"On Valentine's Day," Ginny interrupted, her voice soft as a sigh, "I wrote a letter, meant for Lockhart to pass to Harry."
Hermione's words caught in her throat as she noticed Ginny's downcast lashes.
"I was in the Great Hall," Ginny continued, her voice steady, emotionless. "Then I saw you come in. Harry was holding a huge bouquet of red roses. He handed them to you, you smiled, and… you hugged."
The abandoned classroom was so quiet you could hear the chatter by the Black Lake outside.
Hermione opened her mouth to explain that Harry was just giving flowers to a friend, but seeing Ginny's calm profile, the words felt hollow.
"I stood there watching for a long time," Ginny said, lifting her head, her eyes misty. "Suddenly, that letter felt pointless. This crush… it was always just mine. It's time to let it go."
Hermione's heart twinged, a mix of sourness and ache.
She'd noticed Ginny sneaking glances at Harry in the common room but thought it was just curiosity about the Boy Who Lived, like so many other girls.
She hadn't realized how deep Ginny's feelings ran.
Hermione didn't know what to say, so she just murmured, "I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologize. It's my issue," Ginny said, her tone hardening with resolve. "So, will you teach me or not?"
Hermione studied Ginny's tense jaw, then remembered last year, waking up in the common room under a Gryffindor blanket. (Chapter 73)
She later learned Ginny had draped it over her.
Hermione hesitated, then sighed. "Fine, I'll teach you. But you have to tell me why. What do you need these spells for?"
Ginny's eyes flickered, vague. "It's not for anything bad. Just… a wizard duel, one I've had planned for a while."
"With who?"
"Don't ask," Ginny said, biting her lip. "There'll be an adult wizard refereeing. It won't get out of hand. I just want to be ready."
Hermione stared at her until Ginny looked away, then nodded slowly. "Alright. But I'm only teaching you three defensive spells, and you practice under my supervision. No misuse."
Ginny's eyes lit up, and she nodded eagerly. "Deal!"
They shared a smile, like new friends. Sometimes, that's how girls' friendships start—simple and sudden.
---
One night, an exhausted Ginny trudged toward the Gryffindor common room, every muscle screaming, her fingers trembling faintly.
After countless practice sessions, she'd finally, barely, mastered the spells Hermione taught her that evening.
All she wanted was to collapse into bed, but as she rounded a corridor, two arms grabbed her from either side.
"Well, well, where's our little Ginny been?" Fred's teasing voice rang out. "Not off on a date, were you?"
George chimed in, "Come with us. We've got questions."
Ginny squirmed. "Let go! I'm exhausted!"
But the twins' strength was unrelenting, dragging her into a classroom cluttered with old desks and chairs.
"Spill it. What's going on with you and Malfoy?" Fred asked, leaning against the teacher's desk, arms crossed. "Hagrid told us after last year's first Quidditch match, you two were chumming it up in the Forbidden Forest, feeding a Norwegian Ridgeback. Don't deny it—Hagrid saw it."
Ginny rolled her eyes and plopped onto a scratched desk. "Hagrid's eyes must've been smoked out by dragon fumes. Me and Malfoy? Not even friends. Chumming it up? Please."
"So you were feeding the dragon together?" Fred pounced.
"What, was I supposed to wait for Malfoy to finish first?" Ginny shot back sarcastically.
Fred froze. That's why it took them so long to confront her—when they thought it over, Hagrid's story had holes.
Then Angelina got petrified, and Fred was too heartbroken to care about his little sister's business. George wouldn't bring it up while Fred was down.
So only now did they corner Ginny.
"Then why didn't you hex each other?" George raised an eyebrow. "You hate Slytherins at home."
"I was too shocked he was holding a bottle of Muggle whiskey," Ginny said, tugging her hair in frustration. "Who had time to fight?"
Fred leaned closer. "Don't play coy. How'd you get that vodka from Malfoy? Don't you dare say he gave it to you!"
"Gave it?" Ginny snorted. "I told him if he didn't hand over that lousy bottle, I'd tell everyone at Hogwarts he was buying Muggle liquor."
George cut in, "So that's why you're dueling him?"
Ginny's head snapped up, eyes wide. "How do you know about the duel?"
"You and Malfoy were yelling about it at the Dueling Club. Half the Great Hall heard," George said, shrugging. "We weren't there, but Lee Jordan was."
"Only a bookworm like Hermione, oblivious to everything, wouldn't notice," Fred added. "But we didn't expect her to teach you spells."
"You've been spying on me?" Ginny's temper flared. She shot up, her chair screeching against the floor. "What's it to you if I'm learning magic with Hermione?"
Fred and George exchanged a look, a bit sheepish.
"Not spying…" Fred scratched his head, voice softer. "We just… saw it by accident."
George pulled a rolled-up parchment from his pocket and handed it to Ginny. "Don't be mad, little Ginny. If you're taking on Malfoy, we can't let you lose."
Ginny unrolled the parchment warily. In messy handwriting, it read: Bat-Bogey Hex—covers the target's face in giant bats. Highly effective.
"What's this…?"
"We're your brothers. No way we're letting you lose to Malfoy," Fred said, flashing a mischievous grin. "For a git like him, all gelled up, a face full of bat dung will have him crying for mercy."
Ginny clutched the parchment, her lingering anger mixing with a warm, unspoken feeling. She glared at the twins, stuffing the parchment into her robe. "Mind your own business."
"Hey," George said, winking, "if you lose, come back and tell us. We'll get revenge for you."
Ginny didn't reply, heading out of the classroom, her steps lighter than before.
Fred watched her go, nudging George. "Think she can actually beat Malfoy?"
Fred knew Malfoy had improved since Harry had humbled him a few times. Among their peers, Malfoy's skills were second only to Harry and Hermione.
George grinned like a cat with cream. "Guess we'll sneak out and see for ourselves."
---
In the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy's sour face reflected off a cold silver plate.
That rogue Bludger from the last Quidditch match still stung like a thorn in his mind. Gryffindor had won, and the Quidditch Cup was out of reach.
Draco yanked at his silk tie, irritated. Crabbe and Goyle shrank into a corner, pretending to study the fireplace flames.
Suddenly, a scruffy owl flopped onto the table, a crumpled envelope tied to its leg.
Draco frowned. Lately, he'd been getting pointless letters—taunts or flattery, usually tossed into the fire.
But this owl… he stared at its messy tail feathers, remembering. The last time that Weasley girl blackmailed him for vodka, this same dumb bird delivered her note.
Draco smirked, flicking the envelope open with his wand. No signature, no wax seal, just four scrawled words on the parchment: Duel tonight.
His lips curled into something not quite a smile, more a sneer.
The frustration from losing the match ignited like gunpowder. He needed an outlet, and some Gryffindor fool had just volunteered.
Can't beat Potter? Fine. I'll crush you instead.
His sneer widened.
"Whose letter, Draco?" Pansy Parkinson's cloying voice broke in. She eyed the crumpled envelope and his "radiant" expression, jealousy flaring. "What's got you so happy?"
To Pansy, Draco's grin screamed excitement, like he'd gotten some sweet invitation.
Her nails dug into her palms.
"Nothing," Draco said, waving her off impatiently, stuffing the envelope into his robe. "I'm just hungry. Let me eat in peace."
Pansy bit her lip, retreating, mentally cursing the letter's sender a thousand times.
---
Late at night, Hogwarts Castle was cloaked in darkness, only the Forbidden Forest's treetops whispering in the wind.
Draco slipped past Filch's patrols, moving like a lean shadow, his boots silent on the grass.
Per their Dueling Club agreement, he headed deep into the Forest toward Norbert's lair—a spot no one would visit at night, perfect for a duel.
At the lair's rocky entrance, Ginny was already waiting, wand clutched tightly.
Moonlight seeped through the cracks, illuminating her tense face. She'd lied to Hermione—there was no adult referee. This duel was between her and Malfoy alone, no spectators, no pity.
Hearing footsteps, Ginny took a deep breath and stepped out. Her wand's faint glow cut through the dark, landing on Draco's mocking face.
"Let's do this," she said.
"Weasel," Draco said, stopping, twirling his wand. "Thought you'd drag this out till the end of term. Didn't expect—"
A sudden spell cut him off as a swarm of bats erupted.
In the distance, Ginny had already raised her wand.
---