Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: I always get nervous before uploading these things, which is good, I think.

Well, here I am with a new story, even though I promised myself I wouldn't do another until one of my other stories were done. But the idea came as I read the first Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone again, realizing there were certain things I'd have liked to see. Hopefully I can do the idea justice.

There will be elements of the books in this story, taking inspiration from canon at certain times and liberty with it at other times. But as we get further and further into Harry and Ron's tale, it will start to grow into its own thing completely.

Harry will be the main character, but Ron will be a prominent figure, too. Other characters will be drawn in as the story dictates it. If you, reader, have any questions you can ask and I'll try to respond. But hopefully the story will be thoroughly enough written to answer any questions there might arise.

Well, that's all for me. Have a good one.

The Midnight Duel

"Hmm," said a small voice in my ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you – Mr Potter?"

I gripped the edges of the stool, panicky, and thought with all of my being, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin…

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice, and I could almost touch its challenging tone. "Are you sure? There's greatness in you, and Slytherin could pave the way. No? Well, you could be a fine addition to the Gryffindor house, I suppose – I can even see a future for you where you might excel in Ravenclaw, though I do find you a tad… too temperamental to truly thrive amongst them… Hufflepuff is most definitely out of the question, though they might do you some good…"

Gryffindor, then, I bargained, thrusting the thought to the forefront of my mind – or wherever the being had slivered through my head. Gryffindor, please?

"Is this because of that Weasley boy? The human sentiment never cease to amaze!"

Ron. Surely, he'd be going to Gryffindor – as had the rest of his family apparently. I didn't want to lose my very first friend already after only a couple of hours. The injustice seemed beyond inhuman. I tried to hide the thought, however, tried to mask my desire to – for the first time in my life – have a friend.

Something so simple.

The hat, of course, saw right through my fickle, young mind. "Ah – perhaps I misjudged you, though there is plenty in your mind to the contrary." It seemed to sense my trepidation. "Slytherin, as a house of the finest magical school in existence, should welcome you with open arms. Unfortunately, with recent events in mind, I imagine this won't be the case now. You're a rather special case, aren't you? Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived… Your future's smeared with challenges you must become equal to…"

I didn't comprehend what it was talking about at the time. I was just an eleven-year-old boy, trying not to piss myself in fear in front of the rest of the school. It rambled, I told myself. Sheer ramblings of an entity not really of a sound mind. So I sat, clinging to the stool as I had since I first sat down. My muscles in my forearms were beginning to tremble, my knuckles turning paper-white, shaking, shaking, shaking. Shaking.

It continued.

"Perhaps I should be fair. Grant you a small measure of respite. Your life, no matter what I now choose for you, will be filled with hardships no child should bear. Yet you must. You must. Tolerate the pain! I see in you a desire to thrive – and a courage to stand against all – even Dark Lords. Yes – you'll walk where your peers dare not. Won't you! I see it all in your mind. Please, may you one day find it in yourself to forgive me this moment – this defining moment – but I'd do you a disserve by simply granting your desires. There's too much at stake, Harry Potter."

My eyes, which had been narrowed in a potent mixture of concentration and fear, widened as fear won out at last.

NO!

"SLYTHERIN!"

There was a time where I thought I'd never meet a boy I'd despise more than Dudley.

And then I met Draco Malfoy.

"So – what do you say, Potter?" Malfoy whispered, casting his eyes round the dungeons as we left Potions, heading towards the Slytherin's common room with the rest of the first year Slytherins. "Wizard's Duel in the common room at midnight? Or are you scared?"

"You wish," I answered coolly. A furtive glance at Ron Weasley told my friend that I had, in fact, no idea what a Wizard's Duel was and would very much like his input.

"Of course we will be there!" Ron jumped to my aid. I smiled, hiding my relief at Ron's eagerness. He contemplated Malfoy and his goons for a second with a keen eye. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

Malfoy, surprised evident in his countenance at being put on the spot, looked between his two friends, both wearing very dumbfounded expressions at the proceedings.

"Crabbe," he said at last, turning to us with a confident, if not slightly forced smirk I couldn't wait to wipe of his stupid face. "Crabbe's my second."

"Okay." Ron's voice took on a forced, high-pitched jovial tone, reaching the entirety of our classmates. He was well-aware that the rest of our house had stopped and was listening intently to our confrontation. It was quickly becoming quite a myth – our rift – within the Slytherin house. "Midnight, then… In the common room-"

"Wait," I cried, suddenly remembering my most hated teacher. "Ron – Snape…"

"What – oh." For the first time something other than sheer glee touched my friend's eyes. "Shit! Well, obviously Harry and I would like the duel to take place a different place. On neutral grounds, you might say."

Malfoy sneered. "We're all Slytherins, Weasley – unless, of course, you forgot in your dismay."

"Well, you'd be right. Except for the fact that Snape's treating us like we're Gryffindors and you like – well, like you're… whatever you're to him."

There was a subdued measure of laughs and giggles coming from our year mates. Daphne Greengrass looked like she tried her best to hide it behind her small hand, but it was impossible not to see the way her entire body shook. Eventually, she gave in and giggled the loudest of all of them.

Well, I thought, at least we were a source of amusement.

Draco Malfoy was turning a rather alarming shade of crimson, his humiliation clashing horridly with his righteous fury.

"You damn blood traitor! You-"

"What about the Trophy Room, then? At midnight?" I cut in before Malfoy got going. I remembered the room from one of the first days, when Ron and I had been lost in our exploring of the castle. It had seemed rather secluded at the time.

Malfoy, still an alarming red, which clashed horribly with his blond hair, nodded at last. "At midnight, then Potty, Weasel – in the Trophy Room."

Then he pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered, cutting ahead towards the stonewall that acted as entrance to our common room.

"Potty? Really?" Ron shook his head in disgust, then startled as something occurred to him. "Oi!" he shouted above the sudden noise of people. "Do remember to show up! Wouldn't wanna lose face now, would we?"

Malfoy threw a not-so-eloquently finger back at us and continued on his path, goons in tow.

"Huh. I didn't know wizards used that, too," I said, turning to Ron. I smiled, but I could feel a healthy dose of nervous excitement filling my body; hands shaking as the reality of the situation in its entire slowly revealed itself. I clamoured for my wand in my pocket, finding comfort as a familiar surge of warmth, of magic, flowed through me.

I had never duelled before. Worse, I didn't know a single jinx or curse with the familiarity that I believed was necessary if I should use them in a duel. Sure, I'd read about them, even tried a few, but this was different.

Ron, a picture of dogged, stupidly human determination all of a sudden – god he had changed much in the few days since we were sorted – took in my appearance, then sighed.

"Look – we'll skip… whatever we have now and head straight to the library. It can't be too hard finding something useful there." Ron started steering me away from the rest of our Housemates, leading me up through the castle towards the library. "Besides I doubt Malfoy knows anything harmful, eh? You've seen him in class. You're loads better than him!"

"But I don't know any curses!"

"Not yet. Besides, I'm sure Malfoy can't know too many, either."

"One, Ron!" I blinked. "God, that's awful – try say that ten times in a row…"

"One, Ron – one, Ron – one, Ron-"

"Stop it." I laughed. Felt a little better, too. "But seriously, he only needs to know one curse before it starts becoming a problem."

"I've seen you in Transfiguration!"

"We've only had two classes so far. And Transfiguration won't do me much good in a duel."

"Picking up a curse or two won't be a problem," Ron said with evident conviction, handily ignoring my protest. Then there was a nasty sort of rumbling sound coming from his abdomen, and he groaned as if pained. Then he grinned awkwardly – skin crimson-tinged with sheepishness. "Well, right after an early lunch, eh?"

"All right. Wait." I paused, narrowing my eyes at Ron, as he steered us up to ground level, sunlight pouring in from the windows and the Entrance Hall. "What's a second for, anyway?"

"Well," Ron began distracted, eyeing the entrance to the Great Hall like he could already taste the food, "a second makes sure everything is in order. You know, in case you die." His tone of voice insinuated that what he'd just said was nothing out of the ordinary.

I blinked at his retreating back, stopping by the marble staircase, mouth half-agape.

"What!"

A lunch later – Ron stuffed to bits and me feeling slightly nauseated in the wake of it – found Ron and I browsing the library. I'd never been what you'd call an avid reader, not even whilst living with the Dursley's. But, when Ron and I first stepped into the library of Hogwarts, I knew we'd stumbled into something wondrous.

There's magic here, I marvelled to myself, as I would for years to come. There was magic that had been dusted off for a moment of use, only to be discarded and forgotten for a time again, gathering dust anew on the shelves. Books aligned as far as I could see. Books that could teach you how to turn owls into cups, cups into books – and books into malevolent book monsters! If you can't imagine my shit-eating grin reading that, then nothing will strengthen your spirit, good sir.

Anyway. There were books that could teach you how to vanish a spilled mess of ink on parchments. There were books that could tether an idea unto reality – conjuration, advanced branch of Transfiguration! – the idea of yanking something out of non-being for a time into this silly, wonderful world of ours! Fanatical concepts that seemed so very wonderful.

Oh, and there were curses. Lots of curses. Jinxes. Charms. Counter-curses. Hexes. Transfiguration. All within the reach of my fingertips.

So easy – yet so intricate…

I lingered there for a moment, our first lesson with McGonagall still fresh on my mind – the match had turned instantaneously into a needle. Barely even uttered the incantation – just a thought and a natural response. Like the broom last afternoon with the Gryffindors at our flying lesson. I wondered if my theory with the brooms and their sensitivity to uncertainty could be applied to magic, as well.

It was… intoxicating. And seeing the others struggle with something that had seemed so very simple… by the end of the class only the muggleborn in Gyrffindor – what was her name again? – had come even close to pulling it off, too.

Ron pulled me out of my thoughts with an impatient tuck on my sleeve.

"We're here to look up curses, remember?" Ron said with a sour look. "I didn't come to the bloody library to look up Transfiguration!"

"Keep your voice down, would you! I don't want her finding us here, when we should be in class."

Ron and I, though we'd exhausted Hogwarts in our attempts to distance ourselves from the rest of our house in the past week, hadn't been to the library before now, and I'd quite forgotten the librarian's name.

"Sorry," Ron muttered half-heartedly, shoving a book into my hand. "Take a look."

I did. It's tittle – Curses and Counter-curses – promised with it an air of usefulness we couldn't discard out of hand presently.

I nodded. "Seems useful enough. C'mon."

"Seems dead useful, you mean," Ron said, following me.

We found a secluded table with a view to the entrance. Asking Ron to keep an eye for the no-doubt awful librarian I quickly skimmed through the pages, skipping the introduction entirely.

I can always come back for it later, I thought to myself, knowing that wasn't very likely.

As I hunkered down and began rifling through the pages, distractedly finding blank parchments and quills from my bag, I heard Ron mutter to himself as he got up and went through the aisles and rows and columns of books at a run, fingertips brushing against the names of books that might be of use to our noble cause.

When Ron returned a good while later, he had books stacked upon books nestled in his arms, the pile of them reaching over the top of his head. Every now and then, I could see his head poking out to the side of the books, making sure he wasn't about to fall over something.

"Here!" Ron cried, his exhaustion evident as he slumped in the seat beside me. There had been a tremendous thud as he had let the books spill all over the table.

"Ron." I scrambled to safe the parchment with the still-wet ink from my latest notes – one of them had seemed cool, too. "This seems a bit… overkill, doesn't it?"

"Well, I couldn't decide!" There was a maniac sort of light in his eyes that had me equally impressed as terrified. "One of them," he began, rifling through the pile of books, searching for a specific, "even had a curse that blocked the airways so you can't breathe!"

Okay, terrified – definitely terrified!

"Ron, we are not trying to kill him," I said slowly, then blinked and looked about the library before leaning in close. "Are we?"

"Of course not!" Ron said quickly, too quickly, if I'm being perfectly honest. "Well, I don't think so. And the curse itself won't kill him if I understand it right. The spell will stop when he falls unconscious."

He was right. The spell looked awfully simple for what effects it promised. It would positively terrify Malfoy! He'd loose consciousness, unable to breath, thinking this was the end! It might seem a tad excessive, but if anybody deserved it, it was Malfoy.

Ron agreed wholeheartedly.

"Serves the git right, if you ask me!" he muttered darkly.

I nodded, copying the spell and its specifics onto my growing list of what I'd aptly labelled Duel Spells.

"It might even give us some credit in our house for once. Seems like the kind of magic they'd approve of, you know?"

"Yeah… Not sure I want that, though. Some of our Housemates-" he spat the word as if it was the darkest curse known to wizards, "-are simply… simply…"

"Awful? Evil? Bloody racists?"

"I don't know. Mum still hasn't written me yet. I'm sure she will, mind you, it's just – she's already written Fred and George. I know, because I asked them." Ron's ears were taking on a faint hue of pink, distress clear in everything from the tone of his voice to the way his skin heated. "And the worst part is I can't even blame her for it. I mean – why did we have to get sorted into bloody Slytherin?"

Ron, it became more and more clear to me as Ron sometimes revealed little nuggets of knowledge of his family, had been in some ways suffering the same as me during his childhood. Well, not the same exactly, I'd no doubt that he'd grown up in a loving environment. But almost everything Ron owned was handed down from his older brothers. Even something as sacred as his wand had once belonged to one of his older brothers – which really only made it even more impressive, I thought, that he could do magic with it at all.

Ron was, in a nutshell, trapped in the shadows of his brothers, and Hogwarts had been his way out of the shadows.

Getting sorted into Slytherin was an injustice beyond all reason to Ron, but I detected a glimmer of hope for us both.

"Give it time," I said, padding him awkwardly on the shoulder; he looked at me as if I'd just whacked him and I lowered my hand, embarrassed. "They'll come around. And getting sorted into Slytherin will make it easier for you to stand out in the family, right?"

Ron laughed, and though it was hardly a happy laugh he did seem more at peace. "Yeah. The first Weasley to be sorted into Slytherin – oh Merlin, I can already imagine Fred and George when we get home…"

"Maybe your sister will go to Slytherin, too."

"Harry. I wouldn't want my sister in Slytherin. Ever. Sure, it could be worse. I guess. But most of them aren't exactly nice."

I couldn't argue with that. We'd been to Hogwarts for a little over a week by now, and already I had an outright dislike for most of our housemates. A few of those dislikes could turn into outright hatred by the end of tonight.

I sighed, casting the dreadful thoughts away, and looked at my Duel Spells. "Okay. We have a couple of hours before dinner-"

"We can't go to dinner, Harry, remember? Snape would put us in detention from now until seventh year before we'd sit down at the table."

An overstatement, of course, but appropriately pointing out our predicament.

"Well, we can't not go to dinner," I said, slouching in my seat, feeling faint at the mere thought. "I'd die of hunger before midnight."

"We have to. I'm not facing Snape after skipping out on classes! Not until after we deal with Malfoy, at least."

"If only we knew where the kitchen is. Wait – you do!" I said hopefully, seeing a gleam of an idea growing in Ron's eyes.

"I don't." Ron paused, smiling triumphantly as I visibly deflated before him. "But I know some who might."

"Who?"

"Fred and George. They always go on and on about all the secrets they have found here."

"Okay. Won't hurt, I guess." I stood up, stuffing the parchment into my bag. "Besides, we have everything we need from here."

As we left, we forgot the mess of books in our excitement. And right as we were on our way out of the library, the librarian entered as if out of nowhere, as if she'd been waiting for us all along.

Maybe adult wizards did that. I shuddered. That thought was creepy as hell.

"Hey!" she cried, recognizing my scar the moment she laid eyes on it. "Shouldn't you two be in class?"

"Got off early with Professor Quirrell," Ron answered at once, completely deadpan.

"Oh. Well, he has been far too lenient as of late," she muttered to herself, narrowing her eyes at us in a manner that said she didn't trust us. "Well, then, off with you two, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley."

When we got out of the library, Ron whispered, "How the hell did she know my name?"

I shrugged. "Maybe it was your hair."

Fred and George had been… an experience. Hogwarts, I realized, was a treasure map of experiences just waiting to be explored.

It was a magical castle, after all.

After a conversation that could hardly constitute as an actual conversation – Ron had kept up easily enough, though, used to the twins' distinctive mannerisms – they'd shown us the way to the kitchen.

As it turned out, the location seemed somewhat obvious. Directly below the Great Hall, there was a corridor where one could find a painting of a bowl of fruit, which was the entrance to the kitchens. Allegedly.

I stepped up to the painting, before pausing. "Eh…" I floundered for a sense of certainty, feeling somewhat ridiculous. "It was the pear, right?"

Ron, equally unsure of his brothers' sincerity, it seemed, shrugged noncommittally. "That's what they said."

In his tone of voice, one could hear a fond smile.

I stuck my hand out and tickled the pear. It gave a sort of child-like giggle, squirmed away from my touch, and transformed into a green doorknob, revealing a doorway.

"Oh."

I whipped my head round to focus on Ron. The surprise of his voice touched his eyes.

"You look surprised."

"I was sure it was some sort of prank, that's all."

"So you'd let me test the waters, huh? Thanks."

Ron smirked. "Better you than me, mate."

The kitchen was an enormous, high-ceilinged room, almost a complete replicate of the Great Hall above us. Five tables stood as they stood in the Great Hall, some kind of magic obviously connecting between the two rooms. Vast masses of glittering brass pots flew through the air, and pans sizzled and heaped along the stonewalls. The great fireplace, which stood at the far end of the room, was quenched for now, the sizzling food providing ample heat for the room.

The room was abuzz with a frenzied sort of kinetic energy, little green creatures that reached to about my knees bustled about with infinite energy, it seemed.

I could feel my mouth agape, which happened far too frequently these days, tendrils of awed disbelief coursing though me.

"House Elves," Ron said, grinning when he noticed my expression, always taking great pleasure in showing me these kinds of wonderful, daily wizardry things. "Fred or George – can't remember which – once told me about them actually being here at Hogwarts. I don't think I really believed them for some reason."

House Elves, like most beings and things blessed with magic, turned out to be awesome. Barely little more than a week into my first term at Hogwarts, I still expected to wake up any moment and finding myself back in the cupboard, realizing it had all just been this perfectly wondrous dream.

There was a gratitude in that. One that, even to this day, where I can safely say I've discovered the other side of the coin – the darker, more brutal side – never quite went away.

We were served a quick dinner, and, taking a bag of small muffins with us, we left in search of an abandoned classroom.

There was a sense of urgency in our hurried steps, fear of discovery mingling with our excitement, for this was exciting. Exciting to break the rules, to defy Snape, to challenge Malfoy and his friends. Everything seemed so daring and noble to the eleven-year-old boy who grew up bullied and forgotten in a cupboard.

Whispers followed me as we ascended and descended staircases that moved in every which way, adding to my already burgeoning feeling of paranoia. Were they the whispers of my fame, merely a by-product of my strange, inexplicable past? Or were they part of a more elaborate scheme? Had Snape already found out about our youthful delinquency? Coming to put a stopper on our misdeeds.

"Harry Potter…"

"Beside the redhead!"

"Slytherin… Harry Potter…"

"Who'd have guessed?"

In Slytherin Ron and I were treated mostly with indifference – granted there was a certain measure of dislike tangled within that indifference from some specific few fractions, but we were mostly left to ourselves. With the rest of Hogwarts, however, there was no such reprieve. People were curious.

Sometimes even the teachers seemed disappointed or confused about it – none more so than Snape, of course. Though I could still vividly see the impression of quiet disbelief McGonagall had favoured me in our first Transfiguration class. And I had a feeling it wasn't just because of the ease in which I'd completed her task.

The whispers, though… the never-ending wave of voices that clung to my shadow wherever I went; it certainly weren't in our favour when we tried to be inconspicuous.

We'd been walking about the corridors of Hogwarts for some time, more than I care to admit, when we admitted to ourselves that, really, we had no idea where we were going. Hogwarts was vast and still far too new for us to fully navigate.

We stopped in the middle of one such corridor, letting the older students, Gryffindor by the looks of their colours, walk by. We looked at each other, Ron and I, silently debating.

"Defence classroom?" Ron asked at last.

"Yeah." I nodded and turned on the spot, going in the direction I thought was the quickest – the one we'd come from. "Let's hope – where're you going?"

Ron stopped, looking back from where he'd gone, which was the opposite direction to the one I'd taken. "Well, to the Defence classroom," he said with a frown. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "That is – that way."

"No. It's this way."

An uneasy weight clung to the heart of our little duo. I cast my eyes about, eyeing the students round us. Most of them were staring at me expectantly, like they were waiting to see what surprises the Boy-Who-Lived had in store for them next.

"We are not," Ron began slowly with a shake of his head, "asking for directions. I refuse."

Frankly I didn't find the thought very appealing, either. But beggars can't be choosers, right?

I grimaced inwardly, scowling my features into the most pleasant smile I could muster, and turned to the nearest and dearest student of Hogwarts.

"Excuse me…"

In the, thankfully, empty classroom, I settled my heavy schoolbag against a stool, vowing to find some charm to spell the thing lighter, and took out my notes from the library.

"Okay. We have a couple of hours before we need to leave for the Trophy Room." I grabbed a muffin and started munching on it as I glanced down the notes, taking in the different spells and their usefulness. I swallowed audibly. "I think we should choose three spells and focus on learning them."

"Don't you think you could learn more, though?" Ron said, peering over my shoulder.

"Perhaps. But this isn't a classroom kind of thing. Duels are… fast, you know. Wand-movements becomes less precise if you're not careful, and the power of the spells equally so, unless you're very skilled and practiced with the spell. I'd rather we learn three spells very well than ten poorly."

"I don't think I can even learn three spells in one afternoon, but, hey, it's not my duel."

"Thanks, Ron." I scanned the list a last time, then nodded. "This. The Shield Charm."

"That…" Ron's eyes boggled as he went over the specifics of the charm, taking in the complexity of the theory, the rules, and the necessary wand movement in correlation to the mind's intentions to make the charm stick. "I'll just look, eh?"

I nodded, looking at the spell again, studying it. It was complex, far more so than anything else we'd covered yet. But somehow I felt it was within my capabilities to master.

Taking great care, I drew out my wand and, with deliberate slowness, waved it in the correct manner, thinking the spell, thinking of the protective nature of it, without yet voicing it.

The air shimmered in front of me and a nearly undetectable pulse of some sort flowed outwards.

Could it be…?

"Ron – can you curse me?"

"You haven't said anything yet."

"Just try."

"Well, if you insist." He hopped off the desk he'd been sprawled on, taking a stand directly before me with his wand raised against me, like he was wielding a sword. "Here?"

"Yeah. Shot."

Ron, blinking, slowly lowered his wand with a grin. "I, ah, don't actually know any curses, Harry."

Ron… you idiot…

"Try the one at the top," I said, my countenance in a turmoil of fond exasperation and frustrated annoyance. "Seems simple enough."

Ron, going back to the desk to study the charm in my notes, came back to stand face-to-face with me a couple of minutes later, tenacious will etched into his features.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"And your spell's still there, right?"

"If I've done it correctly, it should be there for quite some time."

"All right." Ron paused, muttering to himself as he waved his wand in a somewhat wild manner. Imprecise, I thought. "Here goes."

Despite knowing better, I braced myself for the impact like I was a muggle expecting a fist.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Nothing happened.

"Dammit!" Ron swore, jabbing his wand in offense.

I, eyes narrowed and focused, calmly spoke, "Slow down your wand, Ron – and loosen up your wrist, it's too stiff."

"Stiff my arse-"

"Ron!"

Ron had a bit of a temper to put it mildly. Sometimes it was a good thing; most times it got us into all kinds of trouble.

This time, however, he calmed himself.

"All right," he said, mimicking what I'd done and did the wand movement slowly and with more precision without uttering the incantation.

"You ready?" he asked half-a-minute later and, without waiting for a response, waved his wand.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

A jet of invisible magic shot out of his wand, raced straight through my meagre shield, shattering it in the process, and left me stiffen and paralyzed on the floor a second later.

My eyes, the only movable part on my body, were going wild as I heard Ron's whoops of sheer joy.

"Did you see that, Harry!"

Felt it, too, you idiot!

I couldn't even utter so much as a sound of protest. But as the seconds grew to what most have been an entire minute, Ron seemed to remember himself.

And, more importantly, me.

"Oh shit! Harry!" Hurried footsteps clang in the classroom and I found Ron in the line of my vision; something murderous must have been in my eyes, for Ron blanched as if struck when our eyes met.

"How do I reverse it?"

I cast my eyes meaningful to the desk with my notes.

"Oh. Right." He was out of my sight a second later, muttering to himself, as I lay there, helpless. Defenceless. I was reminded of Dudley all of a sudden. His sheer girth overpowering me in the schoolyards, pushing me into the cupboard, beating me on my way home from school. God, I hated this feeling.

The powerlessness.

"Right. This ought to do it," Ron said, coming back into my vision with his wand pointing straight at me. For a moment I felt a dread like a stone drop in my abdomen as fear seized me.

"Finite Incantatem."

I felt my body resume control of my limps, blood surging like a roar through me. I sat up, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand to disguise my discomfort for what it truly was. Fear.

Utter fear.

Ron, still giddy with the sense of success, seemed unable to hold all that he felt in that moment within his body.

"That was bloody fantastic!" he cried. "It worked! It actually worked!"

"There's a wizard in you." I hoisted myself to my feet, narrowing my eyes at my own wand. Maybe I should be happy for Ron's success, but my own failure allowed me no such happiness. Taking a calming breath, focusing on nothing but the spell and my intentions with the spell, I waved my wand again.

A shimmer of magic slivered out of my wand. There was a visible disturbance in the air before me, like I'd super-charged the air with immense heat.

This time I felt the magic settle with more conviction.

"Try again, Ron," I said, spreading my arms wide, smirking with a confidence I hardly felt. "I dare you."

Ron, grinning like a fool just as I wished I could, raised his wand with a confidence he hadn't possessed moments ago.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The charm took effect instantaneously, an invisible jet of reality-bending energy flying at me. It struck my shield, flaring wildly at the impact, and bounced back at Ron, striking and paralyzing him.

Ah… that felt good.

This time it was Ron's turn to glare menacingly. However, Ron didn't hold my hatred towards powerlessness, it seemed, for his eyes smiled with mirth more than anything else as he lay there.

Jabbing my wand, I released him with a Finite Incantatem.

"How do you do magic?" Ron asked, when he was done testing his limps' mobility.

I furrowed my brow. "Like you, I imagine."

"No. I say the spell. You just… wave your wand."

"Well, as do some of the teachers. And a few of the adults I met in Diagon Alley."

"Yeah, but they're, you know, adults. Wordless magic – I'm sure it's called something else – well, it's only something we begin to learn at the end of our time here at Hogwarts. I think. Most never really bother learning it from what Bill told me. Even the Shield Charm is supposed to be too difficult for most adults, now that I think about it. Dad told me most of the wizards that work in the Ministry can't even perform a proper one."

Bill? I thought, filling the question for later. Most likely one of his brothers. Just how many did Ron have?

"Well." I shrugged, reaching for a smile that I found hard to find; I was a little uncomfortable with the tangible air of awe in Ron's voice. "Perhaps I'm just good with this sort of thing, you know? Can I try the Body-Bind Curse now?"

"Go ahead." Ron spread his arms, showing no inclination to defend himself; I rather admired the trust he placed in me.

Petrificus Totalus!

Ron stiffened immediately as if bound by invisible ropes. I nodded, satisfied, and cancelled the effects with a wave of my wand.

"Again." Ron stood, grinning with a funny sort of look. "No words…"

Sneaking towards the Trophy Room in the cover of the darkness, tendrils of soft moonlight coming from the windows, I had to admit that Ron and I had had about the most fun afternoon I could ever remember having. Binding each other with magic. Disarming each other with magic. Magic. Oh, magic. Ron hadn't quite managed the Disarming Charm yet, or the Shield Charm for that matter, but his Body-Bind Curse was rather excellent.

It had even been an educational evening, I suppose. I'd mastered three spells to the point where, even during the heat of a duel, I'd recall the feel, precision, and elocution of the spells perfectly. Three spells – the Shield Charm, the Body-Bind Curse, and the Disarming Charm – and if the situation called for it I even had an ace in the hole.

That one, however, I still found myself unsure of. It seemed wrong. Cruel. Suffocating my opponents seemed…

Three spells, I thought with conviction. Three spells. Not four.

"C'mon. I want to get there before Malfoy," Ron muttered, anxiously looking round; it had been over twelve hours since we began skipping classes and we could practically see the shadow of Snape's long, pointy nose round every corner now.

"Tomorrow is a Friday, right?"

"Yes."

"Are we going to classes?"

Ron seemed to give the question some thought before shrugging.

"Well, mum's already gonna skin me when she finds out – wait, she'd be forced to actually write to me, wouldn't she?"

There was a sort of gleeful amusement in Ron's voice. Barely a week ago, he had seemed almost frightened by his mother's – infamous – temper. Now he welcomed it.

Neglect did funny things to a boy.

I should know.

"So tomorrow we hide for the weekend, then?" I asked, a most peculiar mixture of dread and spirited excitement overcoming me at the prospect. "We're in so much trouble."

Ron glanced at me, grinning. "We're already in trouble."

I nodded, smiling broadly, as well. We weren't really the picture perfect example of a couple of sneaky Slytherins – whatever that notion was even supposed to mean. None of the Slytherins we'd met so far seemed concerned about anything other than their homework, Quidditch, girls, boys – or whatever mundane things most children worried about.

Most of them, according to Ron, who had heard quite a few tales of Hogwarts from his brothers, seemed to act much the same way as the students of the other houses. Funnily enough, it turned out children would be children, even if they were sorted into Slytherin.

They were young witches and wizards trying to find their place in this world of ours. Which, I suppose, was what Ron and I were trying, too.

Stopping at the corner of a corridor, I quickly glanced round it to look for any patrolling teachers, in case they did such a thing at Hogwarts. There were none, however, and, nodding quickly to Ron, I made a dash as hurriedly yet quietly as I could across the corridor.

When we reached the third-floor, looking at a very specific door, I couldn't help but ponder on the Headmaster, Dumbledore, and his words at the opening feast.

Painful death.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

I wasn't sure if I found Dumbledore inexplicably awesome or just barmy.

Maybe bit of both.

Surely, though, no such drastic matters happened within a school. But I knew, even as the thought slivered through me, that it was an idea fostered by my muggle-upbringing. None of the Slytherins, including Ron, had given much thought to the statement, finding it – perhaps – even unworthy of consideration.

Was death just a trivial thing, then, in the Wizarding World? Somehow, from what little I'd been able to discern of the past, of He Who Must Not Be Named, and of the occurrences back then during the war, wizards took death just as seriously as muggles.

That meant magic held no power over death, right? Right. Even magic had limits. Death was the end. Final. The end.

Thinking of my parents, the inescapable conclusion made me fell heavy all of a sudden. When I first found out about magic there had been an irrational idea of hope. Now, however… now. Yeah, now.

Thoughts too vast and too intricate for a young mind such as mine filled me, consumed me…

"He's not here yet," Ron mused thoughtfully, breaking my inwardly journey of thoughts and ideas of death.

Such dreary thoughts you shroud yourself in, my boy.

I brushed the thought off my mind, checked my watch, then sighed.

"Maybe he won't show up?"

"Oh, he will," Ron said, giving me a strange look. "We did basically announce it to everyone in our year, remember? He doesn't want to lose face against us."

There was a longing in my heart I didn't quite manage to mask. I wanted this. Wanted Malfoy to show up so that I could defeat him as soundly as possible. For Ron had, in fact, been right. We needed some kind of recognition within our house, something of importance that could grant us a measure of leeway and leniency within the house. Defeating Malfoy could serve as an immense catalyst for that.

And then there was the fact that I wanted to wipe Malfoy's arse with that stupid smirk of his.

It was in the latter thought I found most nobility.

But still, mingled with my thrill of excitement, was a hefty dollop of apprehension. Yes, in the few classes we'd had so far, I'd proven far superior to Malfoy – to everyone, in fact. But that was in a classroom, a setting where you were protected, where you had all the time in the world to succeed. This was a duel. A professional duellist needed a second in the event of his death! Merlin – but there was a duality of emotions, brooding and unseen, to be found in that. In the idea of a duel.

A midnight duel.

Well, it was after midnight now.

At last, footsteps could be heard from outside the Trophy Room. Ron and I scuttled behind a row of trophies, hiding. Waiting. Wands raised and at the ready.

Draco Malfoy, as ever flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, strode into the room, looking as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Something was wrong. Dead wrong. Looking at Malfoy, I knew it immediately.

I gestured for Ron to stay put and revealed myself to Malfoy. Crabbe was the first to notice me, pricking on Malfoy's shoulder and pointing to me when he had his attention.

"Oh – you came, Potter," he sneered, the gleam of barely-concealed confidence brimming in his eyes. That same feeling of wrongness grew stronger, the feeling of a faulty presumption made with an adolescent's lack of knowledge of the human condition. I'd thought Malfoy would be fair; it had never occurred to me that he'd cheat his way to victory.

Stupid. You stupid, stupid idiot. What was he up to?

"Final ready to face your betters, I see," he continued, twirling his wand lazily. "After tonight, the whole school will know of your failure. Know you for what you truly are – a fraud!"

I did not respond, too absorbed with things I couldn't perceive.

Malfoy, smirking, glanced back towards the entrance as if making sure we were in the clear to proceed.

I followed his eyes, though, for something seemed so very wrong. He hadn't been this confident in the corridor just this morning – there had been fear, uncertainty, in his eyes back then.

There was none now. It was like he knew something I didn't.

Subtly, and non-verbally, a flicker of lightless magic manifested before me, born out of intent and will, siphoned from the tip of my wand.

None of my housemates before me noticed my magic. Ron did. Knowing what to look for, instinctually knowing that something was going to happen soon, I felt him inch round our foes, rounding them and flanking the entrance.

A shadow fell over the entrance of the room as someone appeared at the threshold. The streaks of moonlight coming from the high-placed windows illuminated the figure and I recognized him instantaneously.

Marcus Flint, intoning an indiscernible incantation, leaped forth into the room, a jet of cursed light I didn't recognize leaving his wand. It struck my shield with blinking-quick pace, shimmered with suspended magic, and bounded towards Crabbe, who threw himself to the floor in an impressive act of surprised self-preservation.

My shield held on strong through the battering, as Ron, roaring needlessly but awesomely, flung himself over a particular set of impressive trophies, knocking them down with a clatter and shatter of broken glass, and jabbed his wand at Marcus Flint.

"PERTIFICUS TOTALUS!"

Flint, terrified by Ron's sudden and loud appearance, never even manage to lift his wand to defend himself.

There was a dull thud as the stiff form of Marcus Flint hit the floor, and then there was utter silence, five wands pointed at each other.

Ron, wand steady and stance crouched defensively, circled round our three foes to my side, coming to stand in the protective reach of my magic.

He was grinning with exhilaration. Madly so.

I, too, was grinning like a loon.

"I think, Malfoy, you should have chosen a more competent fifth-year student."

By the easily seen look of fear and rage that now marred Malfoy's features, I knew this duel had turned into a fight. Good. I never really got the point of turning your back to your opponent and pacing away, even if Ron vehemently tried to defend its values.

This felt purer, somehow. More real.

"You knew, didn't you, Malfoy?" Ron taunted loudly, taking a crouched stance face-to-face with Goyle, wand at the ready. "You knew you were no match for Harry. You knew you needed to cheat like the little coward-"

Malfoy, bellowing his rage, stepped forwards, leaving the vicinity of his friends as he drew head-on with me.

"Flipendo!" he cried.

The spell, even as it left his wand, sparked a moment of recognition with me as I recalled it. It was one of the spells we'd written down but deemed unnecessary to learn. For now, that was.

It flipped off my shield and, guided by instinct and natural ability, I directed it back at Malfoy who, eyes widening comically, leaped out of the way.

It struck Crabbe, then, who was unable to escape a second time, and sent him lurching and screaming head-over-heels half-across the room.

Malfoy swore.

Ron whooped.

Goyle only looked dumbfounded, looking around as if hoping to understand just what made their spells volley back towards them.

I watched the trajectory of the spell with careful scrutiny, where it had just travelled, my mouth opening slightly in wonder. Again, like flying on a broom, I hadn't known you could direct the deflected spells in the direction you wanted, until I did it.

It just… made sense in the moment.

Malfoy, lying prone on the floor, raised his wand again.

"Locomotor Mortis!"

A jet of purple light shot out of his wand, sizzling through the air with immense speed, and – as I instinctually dived for the ground – shattered my shield at last.

The Leg-Locking Curse, I thought, as I tucked on the floor, gaining my feet an instant later, my wand spinning back towards Malfoy, who still lay on the floor.

Expelliarmus!

My wand-movement was precise and my intent clear, and a crimson jet soared from the tip of my wand. But my aim was off by millimetres, and Malfoy scrambled to his feet.

"What are you waiting for!" he screamed at Goyle, gesturing at Ron. "GET HIM!"

Ron, sensing the danger, quickly brought his wand towards the larger boy that bore down on him, sending a quick Body-Bind Curse.

The spell missed by little more than a foot, and I was painfully reminded that there was more to duelling than simply performing spells as Ron got tackled to the ground, his wand leaving his grasp, followed by a pained grunt from Ron.

The fight turned messy – Ron yelped, and panic seized my body. Goyle was by no means a talented wizard, but he had size on his side, and Ron would be dispatched in moments unless I did something.

Something drastic. Something daring.

Oh, yeah, I wanted this.

A thought. So simple. Yet thoughts, like ideas, possess the power to change the way we perceive the world around us, the way we perceive ourselves.

It was with one such thought that I sent a spell with terrible accuracy, striking Malfoy in the area of his ribcage, where his abdomen met his chest – just as any textbook of duelling would have you do.

Thoughts can kill; thoughts can put a stopper on death. Thoughts can lay claim to your sanity. Thoughts can slay innocence in the blink of an unforgiving minute.

This thought – oh, this thought – would haunt me.

The sickly yellow light struck Malfoy barely a second after Ron and Goyle started their brawl, and immediately we both knew something was wrong.

He started heaving; he grasped for air like a fish for water, and found none. Panic grabbed hold of his countenance. "Goyle – Goyle, help!" he rasped, his voice faint.

Goyle stopped his fight as he registered Malfoy's voice, and I sent a Body-Bind Curse at the large boy on pure instinct, effectively stunning him but leaving him with his senses intact so that he could hear Malfoy's suffering. Right there I wish I'd known a true Stunning Charm. Just to spare him having to hear his friend's horrific fear.

"Potter – please… DON'T!"

Ron, nose broken and right-eye brushing and dark-purple, pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and looked at Malfoy, sickly fascination etched into his eyes. The fun of the spell, and the thought of it had been fun, I realized, seemed so very far away now – when reality hit home with a vengeance.

He suffocated before us. Falling to the ground as his bodily functions faulted him. And for a terrible moment of stillness, where a heart beats and a breath catches, I thought I'd killed the boy.

But then at last the pale boy, now raw-red with anxiety and lack of air, fell unconscious and his chest rose as he subconsciously drew in an enormous amount of air.

Sounds reached my ears, but they refused to make sense. Only when the persistent tugging on my sleeve became a painful pinch on my arm did I register Ron speaking.

"We should leave. Harry – we must leave. Now!"

I nodded dumbly, following Ron with a blank mind and a battered consciousness. Malfoy would wake up, unharmed and well, as would his friends. Hell, from the looks of it, it was Ron who had suffered the most…

But it looked so painful. And scary. And it would leave scars. Unseen. Indiscernible. But still very much there. Raw.

And I realized that magic was wondrous. But it was also terrifying – what it could enable young boys to do. What I could wrought with a wand.

Ron, who had been tugging me along, stopped and swore with a whisper-thin voice, all of a sudden growing rigid beside me.

I raised my eyes, not carrying the least, and then found a measure of dumb will through sheer fright to care anyway.

Severus Snape, cloak billowing dangerously, stalked towards us, furious. Livid. Behind him, limping and hurt but very much awake, was Crabbe, who must have escaped without us noticing. Neither Ron nor I ever took the time to bind him, I realized.

Shit, shit, shit!

Shit.

We'd been caught.