Chapter 20

"The winner is Lilian Cochet" I announce, as the Beauxbaton girl beams at the applause from the other students while her opponent, a 6th year from Ravenclaw dejectedly walks down the stage.

It's been a week since the other schools arrived, on the same day the goblet of fire was introduced and the students put in their names.

I had initially decided to be on lookout to see who puts Harry's name in the goblet but I was waylaid by my sweet Amanda. I'm afraid that after she graduates I'll have to keep her with me permanently, lest someone finds out how scrambled her mind is.

Well the announcement came, we got the same 3 champions as in canon and harry potter along with them.

Right now we are in the much more formal dueling ring made in the grounds of Hogwarts. Turns out that outside of Britain duelling is much more famous and also part of students curriculum. The Durmstrang and Beauxbaton students eagerly signed up and are now trouncing their British counter parts.

The dueling club rules were modified to add more spells and rating games were introduced, to make a ranking of all students. Each student would have 2-3 duels each week, getting points by winning or impressing the judges which were me and a charms professor from each Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

The wizard from Beauxbatons is a pretentious asshole, so I ignore him mostly but the witch from Durmstrang is quite popular with the students.

'Professor Elira Volkov is a mesmerizing yet fearsome figure at Durmstrang Institute. With her raven-black hair, striking silver eyes, and a beauty that exudes both elegance and danger, she commands attention the moment she enters a room. Always dressed in dark, flowing robes with gothic touches, she has an air of old-world allure mixed with a subtle menace.

Known for her sharp intellect and even sharper tongue, Professor Volkov teaches Charms with a focus on the borderline dark arts. Her lessons are intense and captivating, often involving shadowy spells that leave students both in awe and unease. Feisty and unyielding, she demands excellence and quickly puts down arrogance or laziness.

Rumored to have a history with dark magic herself, her aura is one of both attraction and fear. Beneath her icy exterior lies a complexity that only a few have glimpsed, making her both revered and enigmatic—a figure students are drawn to but never dare to cross.'

That's not my opinion on her but something the student body had made up, but I would have to say they aren't wrong.

Due to the addition of new students in the school, it is much more livelier now, with new friendships and rivalries already forming.

"The next match is between Norah Cygnet and Melker Jonsson, please come to the stage"

The crowd's chatter quieted as the two competitors stepped onto the platform. Norah, a poised and refined young witch from Beauxbatons, held herself with calm confidence. Her light blue robes were crisp and immaculate, a reflection of her school's reputation for grace and precision. On the other side, Melker Jonsson, a formidable presence from Durmstrang, approached with a sense of controlled power. His dark, military-cut robes and focused expression left no doubt that he was prepared for a serious fight.

"Wands at the ready," I instructed, watching their postures tense as they lifted their wands.

There was no unnecessary flourish, no grand display. Both duellists were entirely focused on the task at hand. "Begin."

Melker was quick to act, immediately launching a forceful "Depulso!" meant to unbalance his opponent. Norah responded swiftly, her wand movement sharp as she deflected the blast with a controlled "Protego," her expression never wavering.

Without hesitation, Norah fired back with a "Stupefy," her aim steady and precise. Melker deflected the curse with ease, his block efficient and practiced. He followed up with a series of quick, probing spells—nothing too powerful yet, testing her defenses. Norah held her ground, countering each attack with minimal movement, conserving her energy.

It was clear early on that this duel would be a battle of wits and control rather than raw aggression. Norah's style was composed, relying on accuracy and timing, while Melker displayed the kind of blunt force that Durmstrang is known for. But he wasn't reckless; every spell had a purpose, a clear attempt to find a gap in Norah's defenses.

I noticed Melker's expression harden as he shifted tactics. He cast a binding spell, "Incarcerous," ropes shooting toward Norah. She sidestepped them with a quick flick of her wand and countered with a "Confundus" aimed at disrupting his focus. Melker blocked it, but his stance wavered for a split second, enough for Norah to press the advantage.

She cast "Expelliarmus," but it wasn't aimed directly at his wand; instead, it was intended to unbalance him just enough to create an opening. The move was subtle and clever, a testament to her strategic mind. Melker parried, but I could see a flash of frustration cross his face—he was struggling to gain ground.

Their duel continued in this steady back-and-forth. There was no showmanship, no unnecessary flair—just calculated moves from both sides. Spells clashed, light flashed, but the duel was almost quiet in its intensity. It was a test of endurance, patience, and precision.

Then, Norah saw her moment. With Melker just a hair off-balance from deflecting a curse, she struck decisively. "Stupefy!" The spell hit him cleanly, and before he could fully recover, he was down, rendered unconscious by the blast.

"Winner: Norah Cygnet of Beauxbatons," I announced, raising my voice over the murmurs of the crowd.

The duel was over, and there was no theatrical bow or boastful victory lap. Norah simply lowered her wand, her expression unchanged, and stepped back gracefully. Melker, once revived, looked frustrated but nodded in acknowledgment, a sign of respect between opponents.

This duel was a clear reminder that victory isn't always about overwhelming force. Norah's measured approach, combined with her keen sense of timing, had won her the match. Melker fought well, but in the end, it was strategy and patience that prevailed.

It was truly fascinating to see students from the other schools go about dueling. They focused much more on efficiency than theatrics.

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When Harry's name came out of the goblet I knew things would turn to the worst for him.

I also knew that Hermione would be caught up with that but now as I stand at the infirmary looking over her being treated by madam pomfrey.

I couldn't stop myself from being angry, I like Hermione really I do and not in the way I like the other girls. Growing up harry potter was a big part of my childhood and Hermione/Emma Watson was the first girl that I liked, truly liked.

So watching her face with dried tears really makes me want to blow a gasket. I know what happened and who did it and now I am cursing myself from not stopping it earlier. I just never thought that it would affect me so much.

Right now the wand weighing ceremony is going on and I know that Rita Skeeter is going to write that scathing article about Harry and Hermione. It seems she is also going to be the recipient of my rage now, along with that bat and ferret.

I stood near the door, watching as Madame Pomfrey worked with practiced care to reverse the effects of the curse. Hermione sat rigid on the bed, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and lingering pain. I could see how hard she was trying to keep her composure, but the occasional wince and shaky breath gave her away. It was difficult to watch—one of the brightest and kindest students in the school, reduced to tears by a cruel, thoughtless curse.

Madame Pomfrey murmured soothing words as she applied a numbing salve, followed by a complex charm that gradually began to shrink Hermione's teeth back to their normal size. The process was slow, and I could tell that every adjustment caused Hermione some discomfort. Still, she sat there bravely, her eyes closed tight as she tried to endure it. She also let the nurse shrink her front teeth down more than normal as she was always self conscious about them.

When her teeth were finally back to normal, Madame Pomfrey handed her a small cup with a mild pain-relief potion. "Drink this, dear. It'll help with the soreness," she said kindly.

Hermione nodded and took the potion with trembling hands, drinking it in one go. As she set the cup down, she ran her tongue over her now-normal teeth, relief evident on her face despite the dull ache that likely still remained.

Once Madame Pomfrey was satisfied that her work was complete, she stepped back, giving me a nod as if to say it was alright to approach. I took a deep breath and walked over to Hermione's bedside.

"Hermione," I said gently, my voice steady but firm. Her eyes opened slowly, and she looked up at me with a mixture of lingering distress and embarrassment. I could see that she was trying to put on a brave face, but the hurt was still there, just beneath the surface.

"What happened out there?" I asked softly, even though I already knew. I needed to hear it from her, to give her the chance to speak.

She took a shaky breath before replying. "Malfoy… he cursed me. He said something awful about my teeth and then hit me with a spell that made them grow out of control." Her voice wavered, and I could see the shame in her eyes, though she had nothing to be ashamed of.

She looked down at her hands, her fingers clutching the blanket on her lap. "Professor Snape was there," she continued, voice barely above a whisper. "He saw it happen. He… he just looked at me and said he didn't see any difference."

Anger flared in me—cold and controlled, but fierce. I could feel my grip on my wand tightening as I listened. Snape's callousness was nothing new, I knew both from this and my last life, I even liked his character at a time but now I hate him more than dumbledore himself.

"Hermione," I said, forcing myself to keep my tone gentle, "I'm truly sorry that you had to go through that. You didn't deserve it. None of it." I paused, making sure she was looking at me. "Malfoy will be punished. I will personally see to it. And as for Snape… I will be taking this up with the Headmaster."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her face. She had probably expected nothing to come of it—just another incident where those in power would turn a blind eye, as they so often did when it involved Malfoy or Snape. But I wasn't going to let this one slide.

"I know it hurts right now," I continued, seeing the tears she was trying so hard to hold back, "but you need to know that what Malfoy and Snape did says nothing about you. You're one of the brightest students I've ever had the pleasure to teach, and it's your character, your kindness, and your intellect that matter—not the cruel words or actions of others."

She sniffled but nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek despite her best efforts to hold it back. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Madame Pomfrey stepped in then, placing a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Rest now, dear. The pain should ease soon. You've been through quite enough today."

I took that as my cue to step back, giving Hermione one last reassuring nod before turning away. As I left the infirmary, my mind was already racing with what needed to be done. Malfoy's arrogance and cruelty had gone unchecked for far too long, and Snape's blatant favoritism had crossed the line into outright neglect. I already knew that he did this all the time but now he did it to the wrong person.

Is it highly hypocritical of me to feel this way, yes, yes it is, but I don't care.

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