The clock on the mantel ticked away steadily.
Another dueling practice session was underway.
Hermione's face was tight with frustration, her lips pressed into a thin line. She felt downright annoyed.
Last semester's tutoring sessions had dueling drills too, but back then, the gap between them wasn't so obvious. With her spellcasting finesse and clever curse combos, she could easily pull Harry into her rhythm of attack and defense. But after that Christmas break, the difference had become crystal clear.
During the last Dueling Club practice, when Harry and Malfoy had their showdown, she'd watched from the sidelines. She'd seen Harry pull off an almost crushing victory with just four Disarming Charms, forcing Malfoy into a corner. The Slytherin had no choice but to toss his wand and lunge for close-quarters fisticuffs.
As a spectator back then, it hadn't felt quite so visceral. But now, standing face-to-face with Harry, staring down a barrage of those Disarming Charms, the overwhelming pressure hit her like a Bludger to the chest.
Ever since Harry realized his Expelliarmus was unusually powerful, he'd started spamming it nonstop. And honestly, it worked like a charm in his hands—Hermione couldn't find a solid counter.
His casting speed was lightning-fast, and the spells packed a real punch...
She had to set up elaborate traps just to get a shot at striking back, but her counters got shattered by another Expelliarmus every time.
All that talk of feints and combos, surprise attacks, or shifting positions? Useless against a relentless storm of "Expelliarmus!"
For a witch whose talents lay in hard work and smarts, this was beyond frustrating—it was humiliating.
But even tough battles like this had their silver lining. After these grueling pressure-cooker sessions, she was lasting longer and longer. She was gaining a deeper grasp of what Professor Flitwick taught in class and what she'd read in her books.
This setup was like an underage witch facing off against an adult wizard. If she nailed the right strategies, her dueling skills could skyrocket—maybe even enough to hold her own against grown wizards.
Too bad that kind of progress wouldn't happen overnight.
Harry flicked his wand, chanting the same spell over and over, while Hermione hadn't fully mastered the Shield Charm yet. She could only dodge frantically, changing directions on the fly, until she was backed right into the corner.
The match was turning into a total rout—the outcome was obvious.
"That's enough for today."
After calling off the duel and restoring the office to its usual state, Professor Flitwick sank into the sofa. He poured hot pumpkin juice for both of them and launched into his critique of Harry and Hermione's bout.
"Dueling isn't like solving a puzzle—there's no one perfect answer every time. You don't need to overthink the optimal move, Hermione. You should let go of some of those worries..."
The young witch opened her mouth, hesitated, then clamped it shut. Her face flushed red with a mix of defiance and helplessness.
Harry kept his head down, fighting a grin that might set her off even more.
"Harry." Flitwick turned to the other student, his tone a bit more complicated. "The Disarming Charm is an incredibly versatile spell—it neutralizes your opponent without causing harm, and it's great for both offense and defense. You've got it down pat. But I want you to remember: combining different charms is the key to handling all sorts of situations."
Harry felt Professor Flitwick's gaze was... off. It was gentle, sure, but piercing—like it was seeing right through him to something else. It gave him the creeps.
"I... I'll do my best," Harry mumbled.
Flitwick gave a faint smile. A spell that meshed so perfectly with you was like a shortcut—it let a 13-year-old wizard mop the floor with his peers. Harry had figured out all those tactics the hard way before, but now? Why bother with the rough road when spamming Expelliarmus did the trick?
"It's getting late—I don't want to keep you from your beauty sleep," Flitwick said thoughtfully. "Tell you what: next week's dueling lesson, I'll have Professor McGonagall as a guest. She'll demo how Transfiguration works in duels. I want both of you there."
Hermione's eyes lit up as she recalled all those classic duels from her books, where wizards used Transfiguration to turn the tables against stronger foes or bigger numbers.
...
"Transfiguration's like the Disarming Charm—you can use it to attack or defend. And because of its unique physical properties, it often pulls off the unexpected."
On the way back to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione chattered excitedly to Harry. "It's played a huge role in so many famous duels. Just imagine: if I Transfigure a big dog or a flock of birds to block us, would your Expelliarmus still be so unstoppable?"
Harry quickly saw how this flexible, shape-shifting style suited Hermione perfectly. But he wasn't about to admit defeat. "What, like I couldn't use Transfiguration too? I'd turn a lion and an eagle into yours and snatch your dog and birds away."
"I'm not arguing with you—you'll see how powerful it is next duel practice..."
Hermione greeted the Fat Lady and was about to climb through the portrait hole when she smacked her forehead. "Oh no! I forgot to ask the professor about Dobby!"
"Don't you get it yet?"
Harry shook his head and brushed past her into the common room. "Asking won't get you anywhere. The professor and the headmaster won't just spill the beans. Dobby's gotta figure this out for himself."
...
Deep into the night, in the headmaster's office.
Dumbledore stood by the window, cradling a mug of hot cocoa. The portraits on the walls all stared down at the desk, cluttered with silver instruments, stacks of parchment, and an open diary. The ink on its pages glowed softly in the candlelight. Nearby sat a crown studded with sapphires, engraved with parables of wisdom.
Dumbledore inhaled the sweet, chocolatey steam and murmured to himself about Dobby's tale:
"Freedom can't be bought or sold, given as a handout, or put on credit. That's what Melvin's trying to show Dobby: only when he truly understands it for himself can he break free from chains and servitude."
"Hogwarts is going downhill—stooping to pay wages to lowly house-elves?" A raspy voice sneered from somewhere in the room.
Dumbledore turned. A swirl of dark mist coalesced in midair, forming the shadowy shape of a raven. But look closer, and you'd catch a glimpse of scarlet eyes gleaming within.
"Tom, souls aren't highborn or lowborn. Whether wizard, Muggle, werewolf, centaur, vampire, or house-elf, I believe all life is equal." Dumbledore's voice was calm and measured as he took a slow sip of his cocoa.
Voldemort's soul fragment flapped its raven wings and let out a mocking cackle. "All I see is a doddering old fool of a headmaster and his ridiculous professor."
"Oh? Is that how you see it?"
Dumbledore settled behind his desk. "You know, Melvin got along splendidly with you at 16. You two were thick as thieves."
"As a professor, he finds a student's diary and spins this elaborate web of lies to manipulate trust? Vile and cunning—worse than you were back then!" Voldemort hissed coldly.
"I see it differently. Melvin's an exceptional teacher. His knowledge of Muggle psychology lets him really connect with students and guide their growth." Dumbledore chuckled.
"Ha! Psychology..."
Voldemort scoffed again. "Some nonsense cooked up by magic-less Muggles? What's that worth compared to Legilimency?"
"In my experience, it's often more useful than Legilimency—simpler, more thorough." Dumbledore locked eyes with the raven, his blue gaze hardening like steel.
Voldemort's expression shifted. He fell silent, eyeing Dumbledore with wary suspicion.
"The you that came later claimed you'd conquered death by creating Horcruxes—more than one. Hepzibah Smith's locket? No, wait: the diary from your school days, Ravenclaw's diadem, Hufflepuff's cup, Slytherin's locket..."
Dumbledore spoke deliberately. "Tom, which one are you? How many are there in total? Where are the others?"
"You think I'd tell you?" Voldemort rasped back.
"See? That's Legilimency's weakness." Dumbledore smiled faintly. "It doesn't work on skilled wizards. No Legilimens, no matter how powerful, can pierce Occlumency. And it fails against soul fragments—like you right now."
"..."
"But psychology? That's where it shines."
Dumbledore fixed his stare on Voldemort, his words dragging even slower. "Assuming you handed that diary to young Mr. Malfoy, I can infer you've entrusted the others to fellow Death Eaters. Let me guess... Mr. Lestrange? Mr. Nott? Mr. Crouch? Mrs. Lestrange?"
"Foolish probing. Do you take me for an idiot?" Voldemort snapped coldly.
"What a shame." Dumbledore smacked his lips regretfully. "If it were Melvin, he'd probably coax the truth right out of you."
---