The Hogwarts Library, with its endless rows of dust-specked shelves and the faint rustle of pages being turned, was Ethan's and many others quiet place. Candlelight shimmered gently against the polished wood of his table, and the air hung heavy with the scent of aged parchment and binding glue. Here, there were no distractions, no loud classmates, no Quidditch talk, no house rivalry. Just knowledge, peaceful and unjudging, waiting to be uncovered. Ethan had settled into his usual seat, an expansive volume on advanced magical theory open before him, the crisp paper whispering softly as he turned each page. A quill lay unused beside a blank scroll, he didn't take notes unless something truly surprised him. Which, these days, was rare in the beginning books.
His focus was unwavering until the sharp sound of a chair scraping loudly across the stone floor shattered the sanctity of the moment. He looked up, only to meet the determined gaze of Hermione Granger.
She didn't sit quietly. She didn't carry a book. She didn't glance around to check if anyone else noticed. She simply sat across from him, spine straight, hands folded neatly in front of her, and stared like she was preparing for battle.
"You're my rival," she declared.
Ethan raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to laugh or take her seriously. "I'm sorry?"
"You heard me," she said, calm and direct, but burning with intent. "You're the only one who's actually keeping up with me. The only one who matches my grades. My spellwork. Everything."
He blinked, slowly closing his book with a soft thump. "That's not really what I'm trying to do."
"Doesn't matter," Hermione replied briskly. "You are. And I want to know how."
He leaned back, amused despite himself. This was very Hermione, blunt, observant, relentless.
"How… what?"
"How you're keeping up with me," she said. "I read every night. I memorize my notes. I correct myself until I'm perfect. And yet, " she leaned forward, lowering her voice, ", you're always right there. Sometimes even ahead while it seems like you aren't even trying."
She wasn't wrong. Ever since classes had started, Ethan had noticed how their scores were always side by side, top of the charts, one score above or below, back and forth. He hadn't meant for it to become a pattern, but it had. Hermione, who clearly expected to dominate the academic sphere without challenge, had noticed, and evidently, she wasn't letting it slide.
"I come from a wizarding family," he offered, tone casual.
"I know that," she said, dismissing it instantly. "But so do most students here. None of them are ahead of me."
"That's because they don't care," Ethan said with a light shrug. "You care. I care. That's the difference."
She faltered just a little, considering that. It was true. Plenty of students coasted through their first year content with mediocrity. Hermione and Ethan simply weren't like that.
"But still," she pressed, "you're too good. Not just theory, your Spellwork. You practice just like me, someone who lived never known about the wizarding world."
"And?" he said, watching her face closely.
"It doesn't make sense," she said, more to herself now. "Most wizarding kids grow up playing with magic. They get used to it. They cast simple spells, even have a bit of experience with a wand by the time they get here. That early exposure gives them an advantage."
She studied him with the intensity of someone trying to crack a code. "But you didn't, did you?"
Ethan held her gaze, then answered simply, "No."
Hermione stared at him, visibly reevaluating him.
"My family didn't let me," Ethan said, more freely now. "No magic before Hogwarts. No wand, no spells. Not even the basics. They said school was the place for that, and that until I got my letter, I had no business using magic."
Hermione looked surprised. "But, why?"
"They believed in discipline," he replied. "In doing things properly. I wasn't allowed to use a wand until my Hogwarts letter arrived. That was the rule."
Her brows furrowed. "But… you're so precise. I've seen you using magic in class."
"I had to be," Ethan said, tapping a finger lightly against the closed book. "I spent years looking at magic instead of using it. Every spell I read, I had to imagine. Visualize. Deconstruct. So when I finally could use magic, I didn't want to waste a second."
Hermione sat back slowly, thoughtful now. The fire in her eyes had dimmed, but not from defeat, more like understanding. The mystery had been solved, but what she'd uncovered was far more relatable than she'd expected.
She was silent for a moment, and in that stillness, Ethan thought that competing against someone who mirrored his drive. It was… fun. A competitive, sharp, motivating, a rivalry.
He liked it.
"That makes...sense I guess." Hermione said finally, folding her arms again.
Ethan smirked. "Glad I've satisfied your curiosity."
She rolled her eyes. "You haven't. Not entirely. But I'm willing to wait for the rest."
He gave her a look, half amused, half bemused, and silence settled again between them. Comfortable this time.
Then she fixed him with another determined stare.
"I'm not going to let you beat me," she said, like it was a solemn oath.
Ethan chuckled softly. "I'm not trying to."
"Liar," she said immediately. "You wouldn't be working this hard if you didn't care."
He gave a noncommittal shrug, but internally, he conceded her point. He was working hard. Harder than he needed to, maybe. Not just for himself, but because she was always just ahead. Or right beside him. He didn't want to fall behind. There was something about seeing her scores, her perfect wandwork, her razor-sharp answers in class, it drove him to try harder. To refine more. He wasn't obsessed with winning, but the idea of competing… that made everything more interesting.
"Alright," she said, sitting up straighter. "If you're going to be my rival, then be a real one."
He raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," she said, standing up and brushing off her robes like she was preparing for a duel, "no holding back. Full effort. I want your best. I expect your best."
He laughed under his breath. "You sure? Might not be as easy as you think."
Hermione gave him a dazzling, defiant smile. "Good. I like a challenge."
She turned on her heel and strode away without another word, her presence lingering in the air like the fading echo of a spell. Ethan watched her go, a rare, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She was intense. Unapologetically so. But she made things more interesting. Hogwarts had already surprised him with its richness, its history, its secrets, but now it had given him something even more valuable: another reason to enjoy classes.
He reopened his book, the words once more drawing him in, but now they carried a new edge, a new drive. Hermione would be watching, measuring his performance in every class, in every grade. And so would he, in turn. It wasn't about beating her. It wasn't about winning.
It was about playing the game well. Beating her scores just meant he was playing well.