Lockhart’s voice cut through the silence. "Three. Two. One. Begin."

  The moment Lockhart’s countdown reached one, Hermione activated her artifacts. Instantly, her vision sharpened, catching the subtle movement of Snape’s wand—a horizontal flick, elbow tucking inward—the exact motion he used before casting Expelliarmus on Lockhart. She could dodge and prepare for the next exchange. She could block and counter. Both were viable, both were expected, within their limits. Instead, she chose a third option.

  Her nails bit into the flesh of her left palm. She had used blood as a conduit for higher magics before—but this time, she was calling upon her own. Her wand arm snapped up from its rexed position, moving in a blur as she unleashed another of her own spells—one she had crafted herself. "Vapor Vis,’ she intoned, her voice steady. A swirling white mist burst forward, curling toward Snape as she sidestepped into a wider stance, abandoning the restrictive fencer’s posture for something more fluid.

  She had watched Dumbledore and Riddle do this in the films, she had seen that for most wizards used the fencer style with their wand in front like a sword or overhead on occasion to reduce the wand movements needed for certain dark spells. But Dumbledore and Riddle didn't duel like that, and she didn't want to be average, she wanted to be one of the greats.

  As she sidestepped her left hand raised and cast a shield spell, not one of formal wand magic, but one based in blood magic. It didn't need a spell, it was a prepared sigil scored into her palm, which gave her a somewhat unbreakable buckler instead of a rge shield like protego.

  She raised her shield at just the right angle, deflecting Snape’s spell away with minimal effort. Unlike a full Protego, which required sustained focus, her sigil-formed buckler allowed her to remain in constant motion. Seeing the look of shock on his face, the noise in the room disappeared, she didn't see the students faces, all she saw was her opponent and his wand.

  Seeing Snape on the backfoot, obviously not expecting her to use both her hands to duel, she pressed her advantage and continued her assault, pushing the advantage whilst she had him unawares. She was never going to out st Snape, even with her ritual pushing her magic well past what a magical core at 13 should be, she was closer to a 15 year olds now, but against an Adult Wizard, one who trained relentlessly in a War? Stupid. So she had prepared another surprise, if she couldn't out st, she couldn't out finesse him with unknown magic then she needed power.

  "Nullus modus." she yelled, as she used her buckler to bat away a confringo cast by Snape. As the final sylbles of "Nullus modus" left her lips, the very air seemed to shudder in response. A ripple of unseen force rolled outward from her, vibrating through the floorboards of the Great Hall as though the castle itself had felt the shift in power. The taste of ozone thickened, an electric charge snapping in the air like a brewing storm.

  Beneath her robes, the concealed crystals shattered, each one a tiny conduit bursting open, releasing the raw, condensed magic she had stored over months of training. It did not flow in neat, controlled currents—it roared into existence, responding to the command of its mistress. For a moment, time seemed suspended as the magic coiled around her in luminous, cascading tendrils, swirling in slow, deliberate arcs before snapping into focus. It was no longer restrained; it was alive, and it was hers.

  As the magic rose, she cast another silent spell, this spell did nothing to help her directly in this duel, it was a misdirect, she wanted to put on a show. Ice started to creep up her robes, one of her curls turned a striking shade of silvery-blue. The stage was set, she moved.

  All that raw magic reacted with her blood on her left palm, tapping into her power she chanted her spell quietly "Per potentiam Fatae Hiemalis, incanto te, spiritus gcies, ut mille acutis iciclis super terram descendant", which coalesced behind her as she continued to wave her wand at Snape, throwing a constant stream of spells at him to buy her time to finish her grand spell. More and more were summoned, suspended around her, icicles were summoned and posed ready to react, Snape's eyes widened as he saw the onsught she was preparing, that was when Hermione realised just how much he had been holding back.

  She realised that while her reaction speed was insane, she did not have the muscle memory to cast spells without thought, nor did she have the speed to keep up with someone who was being serious, and professor Snape was now serious. She saw it too te. The moment his movement changed, the precise second his intent sharpened. The calcuted testing, the measured counters—gone.

  The gap between them was insurmountable—and yet, she leapt into it anyway. The kids gloves were off.

  She threw every ounce of magic she had, but it was like fighting against a storm. She was not fast enough. Not skilled enough. Her defences crumbled—her Protegos shattered like gss under Snape’s relentless assault. She was barely staying afloat. Her sigil shield held, but it was like a raft in a hurricane.

  He pushed and she was back on defence, trying desperately to hold him off as her Grand Spell gathered, her Protegos shattered, she resorted to dodging and shielding with her buckler, at least she was able to predict what she could block and where to move with the extra time to think, but he was still speeding up.

  He had been testing her.

  This thought brought a smile to her face, not a small one, but a manic one. He wasn't testing her now, he was holding nothing back. This was what she wanted, this was her!

  Time around her seemed to slow down even further, this was not the case, just her perception, being pushed into a corner had rid Hermione's mind of stray thoughts, every part of her was now focused on the fight, the thrill of it, the dance as she ducked, dodged and weaved between spells whilst blocking what she dared, all while still spinning her Grand Spell.

  She had not seen the stray spell that missed her however, it was not a stray spell though, it had hit one of her summoned suspended icicles and it had nded on the floor right where she was stepping to move to dodge the spell, she lost her footing. She had time to think though, and immediately rolled into the fall and jumped back up to continue, but she was now in the way of 3 spells aimed at where she would have to have rolled to, Snape had trapped her.

  She could not block all 3 spells at once, she had only one way to stay in the fight, but it would then mean her trump card was wasted. She pushed her earrings well beyond their limits, slowing time down further. She knew this would break them, but she could repce them. Was winning this fight important? No. What was important was seeing how big the gap was, and every second she continued fighting Professor Snape, was time she had to learn and adapt. Unhappy, but steadfast in her decision, she clenched her left hand.

  As she did so, the world sped back up, as the spells approached her, her icicles moved to defend her creating a wall of ice to defend against the onsught. This gave her breathing room to start casting spells offensively again, she sent the rest of the icicles at Snape in a final attempt to overpower him, not with raw power, but with sheer column of attacks.

  As the spells got closer to him she thought she had him and then she heard him, almost a murmur. "Protego Diabolica" all her icicles melting upon contact with his shield, he sshed at her spells with his wand disrupting them in the air.

  She stood frozen, staring at the unraveling of her pn. It wasn't arrogance—she had known her attacks weren’t about power but sheer overwhelming numbers. A relentless storm, a calcuted flood meant to force Snape into a defensive corner.

  But magic didn’t work like that. Not here. Not against him.

  He hadn't even countered her directly. Just severed the weave of her magic as if it were nothing more than a tangle of loose threads. The ease of it left a hollow ache in her chest.

  As she stood somewhat stunned she registered he had cast a couple of rather nasty spells at her, whilst they would not kill her, she realised Snape had not seen her freeze,Realization dawned on his face as he paled. If she did not dodge those spells, she would be badly hurt.

  She had faced death before. Had stared down monsters, had fought tooth and nail for survival. And yet—this was different.

  There was no escape.

  No st-minute pn, no miracle of intellect. Just the slow, crushing realization that she had nowhere left to run.

  Her earrings burned, but nothing came to her. No strategy. No defence. No hope.

  She had lost.

  She was weak.

  Something cold uncoiled in her chest. Not fear—rage.

  She was not weak. She could not lose to some mortal.

  Her pulse slowed. Her breath evened. The temperature dropped as frost curled over her fingertips.

  Her eyes burned silver. Her lips parted—

  "STOP."

  The air around her shivered. The three spells Snape had cast froze mid-flight, suspended in unnatural stillness—before dissolving into nothing.

  Snape’s wand lowered, ever so slightly.

  The room was silent. Deadly, suffocating silence. Even the torches flickered, their fmes weaker than before.

  His expression, always unreadable, cracked.

  For the first time, Snape looked shocked.

  But Hermione didn't get the chance to relish in that.

  The silver glow in her eyes flickered. The frost on her skin fractured. The air grew thin.

  And then, everything—her magic, her strength, her very breath—her knees buckled.

  Darkness swallowed her whole.