Proper ladies did not enter dueling competitions.

Then again, proper young ladies also didn’t become engaged to a man their family disapproved of, lose him in a tragic accident, and then take an office job to support themselves, so the propriety ship had long since sailed for Elinor Goyle. In spite of this, though, the witch had never entered one of the myriad tournaments that dotted the magical landscape each year. Oh, she had toyed with the idea for the better part of half a decade, but it had only been a week since the Pest Advisory head had officially signed her name to it, the second most reckless thing that Nora had ever done.

Now she stood here, wand in hand, across from a man who, in another life, she may well have married (well, someone like Mr. Pettigrew, at any road), keenly aware of how unprepared she was for this. Determined not to make a mockery of herself rather than to win, Nora offered the perfunctory curtsey before raising her wand in the air.

“Expeliarmus!”

Alright, so she wasn’t exactly reinventing the wheel here, but everyone had to start somewhere.

Albert Pettigrew/Edric Umbridge