Chapter Nine - Expelliarmus!


"Blimey, its cold." Ron shuddered as he struggled to adjust his cloak.

"You can say that again," Harry muttered. "You'd think that Hogwarts has never heard of central heating before."

Hermione shushed them both, "We're in the library, and you need to be quiet. You're distracting me."

Ron and Harry quietly exchanged looks. "Not my fault it's so bloody cold in here. I can't even write, my hands are so cold," Ron complained and nodded towards his hands. They were tensed up tightly around his quill, and his fingertips had a slight tinge of blue under his nails.

The days were going along quickly, filled with endless hours of note taking, studying and essay writing. It was only their fourth week back, October fast upon them, and Harry already felt as though his fingers were about to drop off from overuse. He was sitting in the library with a small group of friends attempting to bluff his way through a particularly difficult essay on how to identify transfigured items. The fact that McGonagall had called for twenty-five inches of parchment made it all the more difficult.

Distressed, Harry looked up from his sheet, noting that his handwriting was nearly illegible and sloping all over the page. He had only managed to write ten measly lines before he hit a wall. Luna looked up from her own work as Harry tried to stifle an anxious groan, kneading his hands in his hair for lack of anything better to do. He saw that she was more than halfway through her length of parchment without so much as looking up at a book. He could hardly believe her diligence. They had been there for a little under an hour, and even Hermione was cross-referencing like a madwoman, her paper decidedly untouched in comparison. Well, Luna was a Ravenclaw, after all. Perhaps it was one of the requirements of the Sorting Hat that Ravenclaws also have a fiendishly brilliant memory to accompany their natural intellects and curiosities.

"You okay, Harry?" Luna's shrill voice carried across the desk and Harry snapped from his thoughts and back into those surrounding the library.

"Yeah I'm fine," he lied, hoping that maybe he could stall for some time before he'd have to return to that relentless essay. Luna peered over from her side of the desk and frowned.

"Transfigured objects leave a kind of shadow around them once they have been magically changed, so it's easy if you look hard enough-" Luna read Harry's work out loud for all to hear, but was stopped abruptly when half a dozen other heads flicked up from their quills, strange looks on their faces.

"Harry, is that what you've written?" The first voice to break the silence was Hermione's, her expression raw with astonishment from what she had just heard.

Harry tried to cover up his embarrassment, but the effort backfired horribly. "Luna's the one who read it, why do you think I wrote that? Look, she's on the other side of the desk. How could she even be able to read my work from over here?"

"Harry, I'm well practised at reading upside-down," Luna giggled airily, unfazed by the attention, "and I didn't even need to pull out my Spectrespecs, even with that horrible handwriting."

"You still have those?" Neville piped up from Luna's immediate right.

"Of course, Neville. You've no idea how many times they've saved me from walking into a swarm of Wrackspurts."

The group shared a chuckle before Hermione chimed in once more. "Seriously though, that's what you're writing for your N.E.W.T. level essay? Harry?"

"It's just a draft… I couldn't think of what to say." Harry tried his best to stop the haze of warmth from flushing his face in embarrassment.

"Even Ron has written more than you, and with a greater amount of detail. Correct detail, I might add." Ron looked up at Hermione and gave her an appreciative smile, before turning to face Harry's eyes set hard against his. The poor boy was sandwiched between the two, and he chose to simply remain silent.

"What's wrong with what I've written?" Harry demanded, his voice firm.

Neville opened his mouth again to offer some advice. "It's more of an aura than a shadow, and it's called a signature, Harry."

"And you can't just look, your eyes need special training, and there are a bunch of spells too," Seamus added.

"Great, I guess I'll just restart then." Harry's mind was heavy with frustration, not only at the work, but also at the fact that people other than just Hermione were reprimanding him. He could deal with her, they had been though a lot together and he felt that he understood her insecurities of never being good enough, but the others – they were only just as good as him. They had no right to be lecturing him on subjects that they wouldn't even get an Exceeds Expectations in. At least Ron had the decency to keep his mouth shut. "Can I borrow someone's book, then?"

There were a few sorry looks on some faces, and then everyone turned back to their work. Harry had decided to leave his own book back in his trunk, considering that there were going to be seven others there with a copy. Unfortunately that wasn't the case. Ron was sharing Hermione's book, but could only glance at it every once in a while when she wasn't furiously turning pages (Harry suspected that she must have cast some charm on the book to keep it from falling apart), Neville was sharing with Ginny, Seamus with Dean, and Luna hadn't bothered to bring hers – she obviously didn't need it.

It was apparent then that any moment longer he spent there in the library – a room that, ironically, was full of all sorts of books except the one that he actually needed – would be a moment wasted. "Fine," he stood up and gathered his quill, inkpot and parchment from the desk and into a small bag. "I can see where I'm not wanted."

"Harry, that's not what we meant!" Hermione whispered hurriedly.

"Well, I'm not going to get any work done here. Guess I'll go up to my room and do this blasted essay up there."

"Harry!"

Before anyone could stop him, Harry was already halfway to the door. He walked as quickly as he could, hoping they hadn't noticed his informed decision was actually a temper tantrum. He tried telling himself that he was simply leaving because he couldn't work without a book, but the hot emotions in his head bubbled away and said otherwise, that his friends were betraying him and he had a sudden urge to be alone.

"Harry, wait!" his ears picked up Ginny's voice behind him. He was outside of the library now and had already started down the corridor, but her call stopped him in surprise.

"What is it, Gin?" he asked cautiously, turning to look at her.

"Don't listen to Hermione, you know how she is." Ginny shifted her weight and held one arm with the other. She looked nervous, out of place, for some reason.

"I know that. I just really need to get this stupid thing out of the way, and I wasn't achieving much in there." Harry wasn't sure if the reassuring voice was meant for Ginny or himself.

"Well, do you need some help? I could come and help you… if you want."

He suddenly realised why she was acting so nervously. Harry had thought that everything was slowly slotting back into place between them, but they really hadn't spent any time together at all. Especially not alone. Really, the only times that Ginny had actually approached Harry was after Quidditch practise. She seemed to be much more confident after a long slog up in the air, and even more so if the day was particularly windy. Other than that, they retreated to opposite sides of classrooms, desks and dining tables.

Harry pondered what she had really meant behind her words, but decided that whatever it was was too complicated, and his need to be alone was too strong. It was almost laughable, that for as long as he could remember he had been relying on his friends, but now he couldn't stand to be around them for too long before they did something to bother him and make him want to quickly and quietly fade away. Harry made an effort to produce an innocent smile and tried to let Ginny down lightly.

"Sorry Gin, but I don't really study well with others. You saw the shambles in there. I'll go back and have a read of my book tonight, hopefully that will help." Before she could answer, Harry had already turned the corner in the corridor. Afraid that Ginny might come after him, he quickened his pace into a half walk-half jog.

When Harry was nearly at the Gryffindor Common room he slowed to catch his breath while he approached a corner to come around to the Swivelling Staircase. He didn't usually bother with this route because how fast anyone got through was all dependent on chance, but for some reason Harry decided to go the long way in an attempt to throw off whoever might be secretly following him. He knew far before that point that Ginny wasn't going to come running after him, but he indulged himself in the idea that someone might care enough to.

Once his lungs were full with cool, fresh oxygen, Harry straightened up and began a more relaxed amble around the corner leading to the stairs – right into none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Watch it!" he heard the Slytherin scold as Harry collided into him, their heads smacking into each other painfully. Malfoy rubbed the side of his head angrily. "I ought to dock points for this. Headbutting your Head Boy! Ten points from-" then he noticed who the perpetrator was. "Gryffindor!"

In the commotion, Harry's inkpot had somehow bounced out of the top of his bag and smashed, the jar lying cracked upon the stone floor as the black substance threatened to stain it. He was muttering half-hearted apologies while he fumbled for his wand, casting an obliteration charm on the scattered glass instead of simply repairing it. It wasn't like he could scoop up the ink from the sodden ground and put it back in there anyway. Hermione would have had a spell for it, but Harry didn't care. Once the glass disappeared, he muttered Tergeo, relief striking him as the ink slicked out of the pores of the stone floor, so he could Scourgify it away. It wasn't until he was satisfied Filch wouldn't notice the apparent vandalism when he saw a pair of shiny shoes on the floor. He traced the shoes upwards; black trousers covered by the trail of a black cloak… green tie… self-satisfied smirk.

"Malfoy! What are you doing here?" Harry rubbed at his scar, even though he had hit the other side of his head entirely.

"I could ask you the same question," he sneered. "It's your own fault I had to take points."

"Points? What?"

Malfoy dropped his hand to rest indignantly on his side. "Did your brain fall out when you so rudely walked into me? Do you remember what a Prefect is, Potter? Hmm? Well, I'm the crème de la crème of Prefects… Head Boy." He straightened his tie and smiled coyly.

"Oh, right. Sorry."

Harry could hardly bring himself to mumble any more than that. The words 'Head Boy' only made him think of Percy Weasley and his incessant drivel, which soon ended up being sensationalist brown-nosing for the wrong team. Even though he had apologised and switched sides again, Harry didn't trust him as far as he could throw him.

Meanwhile, Malfoy was lurking the halls above ground on a Friday evening, which was something different to say the least. He always thought that Slytherins were more like cave dwelling goblins, never coming up into the light unless they had to.

"So where are your little friends, 'eh, Potter?" Malfoy asked in lazy conversation.

"Library. I forgot my book, so I figured there was no point."

"Maybe you should take more care to remember your things instead of scurrying around the castle, wasting time and head-butting your superiors."

"What's that supposed to mean, Malfoy?"

"You're awfully busy, or at least you seem to be. Too busy to indulge me in a duel, perhaps?"

Harry knew at once what Malfoy was playing at. It was true, Harry had been kept feverishly busy with assessments and Quidditch, and he indulged himself in his spare time as best as he could. There was just no way that he was going to voluntarily put himself through the grief of spending time with Malfoy if he didn't have to, even if it meant that he could vent some frustration out on him and maybe even cause some embarrassment to the snide Slytherin. At worst it would damage his pride, but there wouldn't be anyone about to see him humiliated, and that was the only way to get through his thick skin. On top of everything, Harry had no inklings to play teacher when he was so busy 'learning', and had simply forgotten about the whole matter.

"Potter?" The word came as less of a question than a statement.

"Um, I'm kind of busy now Malfoy."

"I'm sure, what with your gallivanting on the opposite side of the castle to Gryffindor Tower."

"What do you- how do you know where the tower is?" Harry stammered.

Malfoy tapped at a silver badge that peeked through his cloak. "Head Boy," he said in a sing-song voice.

"Yeah well, I was trying to lose a tail." He checked behind him as he said so, unsure of whether he himself was actually buying into the charade.

Malfoy looked confused. "Lose your tail? I never knew you were a monkey."

"No, someone was tailing me… you know… following."

Malfoy glanced over Harry's shoulder and down the corridor as well. "I knew that you idiot. Well, I don't see anyone," he scoffed.

"Guess it worked."

The two stood there in silence for a few moments, Malfoy eyeing Harry with a vicious stare, as if he was trying to smuggle some repulsive illicit item onto the grounds and Malfoy was itching to turn him in to Filch.

"Well," he started, just as Harry made another attempt to leave, "seeing as you have successfully averted your tail, you might as well indulge me in a duel. You owe me for the lump that will no doubt appear on my head in the morning. I'll have to come up with some excuse too. Such a hassle."

"Oh lay off it, Malfoy," Harry spat as he tried to stare down a pair of calm grey eyes.

"Don't make me give you detention," Malfoy's lips curled into a haughty smile.

At this point Harry deflated, knowing that he had lost. "Fine," he grumbled, then pushed past into the chamber with the Swivelling Staircase. Malfoy darted behind him and stepped onto the foot of a set of stairs that had just begun to shift.

"Where are you going?" Malfoy shot, his voice wobbly as he leaned over to grip the railing when the stairs lurched.

"Sixth floor."

Malfoy deadpanned. "You don't mean…"

"There's an empty classroom that isn't used. It only has one window, and it's big enough that you won't crack your head on the wall when you go flying."

"Me? What makes you so sure you could knock me down?" the look of fear dissolved as his arrogant ego took over.

"You'll see," Harry snickered to himself. Maybe this was a good way to vent after all.


They reached the classroom without a hitch; though Harry was sure Malfoy almost lost his dinner on the stairs at least twice. He teased him about it, only to receive a backlash of angry comments – something about the whole idea of magical stairs being a complete waste of space. It had taken some time, but eventually the stairs moved into the place that they were aiming for. If Harry hadn't known better, he'd have guessed the stairs were practical jokers, taking them in every direction possible before alighting at the correct position.

"Finally," Malfoy breathed, still tetchy from the ride. Harry watched him brush the creases out of his clothes. "It would have taken far less time and effort had we gone round and taken the normal stairs – the kind that don't move."

"Where's the fun in that?" Harry was enjoying rubbing Malfoy the wrong way. They walked down the corridor a few paces and found the empty classroom in question. Malfoy pushed in first, and Harry shut the door carefully and locked it once they were inside. After that, he cast a silencing charm at the door, followed by one at the window… just to be sure.

"Nervous to be alone with me, Potter?" Malfoy's voice returned to his natural mocking sneer.

"Not when you've already admitted that I could beat you hands down in any duel."

With that Malfoy dropped his cloak in a corner and drew his wand. Harry did the same, placing his bag containing the quill and parchment on top of the lump of black material.

"I did no such thing," Malfoy spat.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Then why are we here?" When he received no answer, he walked to the centre of the room, goading his opponent to do the same. "Bow."

"I know well enough how to bloody duel!" The retort was venomous, and Malfoy looked as if he were about to blow Harry's head off.

"Fine. I was just trying to show some respect. Clearly you don't need any of that."

Harry turned and walked to his side of the room and turned to face the centre. Malfoy hadn't moved from where he was standing, and his wand was now shooting small golden sparks from the tip. The sight alarmed Harry, as he had only ever seen that happen with new magic users without full control of their powers. The fact that such words would cause so much anger was astonishing, considering how calm and collected Malfoy usually was. He was probably just used to getting his own way, and when he didn't he'd throw a temper tantrum like a young child. Or so Harry suspected, anyway.

Harry opened his mouth to speak when a silent blue sliver of light rushed towards him. He just barely managed to cast a defensive charm in time when another flash of light came at him. On and on, Malfoy sent a vibrant array of hexes at Harry. He managed to successfully deflect each and every one, but the constant barrage prevented him from sending any casts in return. Within a couple of minutes he was sure he had countered more than a hundred spells. His heart was beating heavily against his chest and sweat was beading at his brows.

The curses, hexes and jinxes kept coming, but in time they slowed to a more orderly pace. At first it seemed Malfoy had been slinging any spell that came to his head, some so quickly in transition that they seemed to be paired off, but soon Malfoy paused with each flick of his wand, and the incantations that came with it. Despite the great variety in spells, there were very few verbal incantations, and the room was mostly silent bar the crashing of spells against stone. Even though he was tired, Harry's mind was still reeling and rearing to go, and he kept his eyes and ears alert as he waited for an opening…

"Expelliarmus!" He cried, and a red jet of light soared between two other spells that were flying towards him. By the time he had deflected them the commotion had stopped.

Malfoy dropped to his knees in the middle of the empty classroom, his hands holding his body up as he panted and gasped for air. His wand was lying in the far corner of the room. It was only then that Harry noticed how exhausting the whole ordeal had been for the blonde man, and droplets fell from his sweat-covered face to the ground, leaving behind small wet circles that soaked into the concrete floor.

"Damn it. That damned spell!" Malfoy muttered to himself, the sound barely making it to Harry's ears.

"What?" Harry asked with a heaving breath of his own.

"I hate that spell!" came the reply in a strangled scream.

Harry took a few cautious steps forward then tucked his wand in his trouser pocket and held out his arms. He willed his voice steady, careful to not cause another uncontrolled outburst from Malfoy. "What was I supposed to do? You could have killed yourself from exhaustion, if you didn't kill me first."

"Did you have to use that spell?"

Harry folded his open arms hastily across his chest and gave Malfoy the firmest stare he could muster. "You should know by now that it's the first thing that comes to my mind. It's pretty useful, really. Stops you from casting, without doing any damage."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You're a bloody hero," Malfoy spat with disgust.

"Would you rather be incapacitated another way? Want me to knock you out with a Stunning spell? Crack your head open when you collapse from a Jelly Legs jinx? How about I petrify you, then kick your nose in?" Harry stopped himself when he realised he had been shouting.

In quick response, Malfoy pulled himself to full height once more and took a few jerky steps towards Harry, his face bubbling over once more with anger. "I said I get it! You're such a little goody-goody that you can't bear to have a little rough-and-tumble! Even when your opponent is trying to kill you!"

Harry wasn't expecting that. His building ire fizzed away completely, and his voice suddenly wasn't able to shout or yell or scream. All he could do was stammer a barely coherent, "what?"

"So I guess this means you own my other wand now, doesn't it? Or should I say my mother's wand! How does it feel, Potter, to own two Malfoys in the only way that matters?"

"What? What are you going on about?"

"My wand! You foolish git, you disarmed me of my wand!"

"Oh." It dawned on Harry then why Malfoy was so ridiculously furious at having lost the duel. He'd thought that he'd lost his only means to magic. "It doesn't work that way, you know."

"What doesn't work that way?" Malfoy was still raging.

"Come on, Malfoy, think! When have you ever seen any other students running around the school holding wands as trophies? It doesn't work that way."

The Slytherin looked confused, the emotion mixing around his face with the still very prominent anger. "What are you going on about?"

Harry sighed. "I can't take your wand if we're just in a friendly duel. It has to really mean something for the ancient magic to kick in."

"And since when was this a 'friendly' duel? I sure as hell meant it."

"It's still the same thing. I went in here with no intent of killing you or taking your wand, and I hope the same goes for you. So that means I don't actually have any jurisdiction over your mother's wand. Go. See for yourself."

He pulled out his wand once more and waved a Lumos towards the dark stick in the corner of the room, and watched as Malfoy made a mad scramble for it. Pale fingers plucked it from the ground and cold, grey eyes joined them in a thorough inspection. The fingers then turned the wand and cast a quick Lumos, which illuminated that section of the room with ease. He then cast a few other simple spells, levitating a piece of crumbled brick, and then fixing it back to the dip in the wall that it had sprung from. Confident that he had control over the wand, he cast one more spell, this time at an unsuspecting Harry.

"Expelliarmus!"

Harry's wand flew out of his lax grip, ricocheting off of the ceiling before it came to rest a few metres from where he was standing.

"I guess that spell is pretty useful." Malfoy muttered.

"Very funny." Harry stepped down to pick up his own wand from the ground.

"Now we're even." A smug grin appeared upon Malfoy's mouth and he folded his arms as he now inspected the room. "Interesting how, for someone so utterly uninformed about life as a wizard, you seem to know so much about wand magic."

Harry shrugged. "I guess I learned what was essential for me to survive."

"Yes, but you'll be needing to know a lot more than just wands if you wish to make it after Hogwarts."

"I think I'll be okay."

"Sure," Malfoy gave a sarcastic nod. "And how is it that you barely seem to have broken a sweat? I thought I'd given you a tougher time than that."

Harry rubbed his forearm against his brow and looked to see that he had left a damp patch on his sleeve. While this had been a workout, Malfoy had practically started shivering after his blood started to cool.

"Malfoy," he began, "you have absolutely no idea how many duels I've been in, real and practise. If I couldn't have withstood against you for a few minutes, I'd have died years ago."

"Next time, though, it might be more interesting if you actually fought back."

"Since when did I say there was going to be a 'next time'?"

"You didn't. I did."

"Whatever. I guess that means you're not satisfied with me just kicking your ass on the Quidditch field," Harry muttered only just loud enough for Malfoy to hear him clearly.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." This time was Harry's turn for a coy grin, but it was different to the Slytherin's. For one, Harry had turned in the opposite direction, collecting his gear from the floor, and was smiling to himself.

"We'll just see about that-" Harry knew that Malfoy would have moved to raise his wand.

"No we won't. Not tonight, anyway." When he turned, he was met with exactly what he had suspected: Malfoy perched with his weight mostly on one leg, his arm out, about to spell off a curse. He gingerly looked down at the gold watch that was dangling from his cloak, "Its quarter to eight. Madam Pince should be tossing my friends out of the library by now, and they'll worry if I'm not where I said I'd be." He gave a dramatic sigh, "and then I'd have to tell them where I was. Hermione would be horrified, of course. Then she and Ron would follow me everywhere, just to make sure you don't get a chance to cast a Killing curse at me. And then there'd be no chance at all for you to get any practise in-"

"I get it! By Salazar himself, you talk too much." Malfoy lowered his wand.

"I appreciate your understanding. Otherwise, I'd spell that ghastly smirk right off of your proud face."

Harry took no moment's hesitation to open the door and dart out right after the words left his lips. Another grin exposed itself on his face as he ran down the corridor and to the nearest set of stairs. This time, for sure, he knew that someone would come running after him. The thrill of the chase had allowed him to let out a gleeful cry, as Harry turned another corner and bolted up the stairs. Once he had made it to the portrait of the Fat Lady, he was sure that he would no longer be pursued, and allowed himself a moment to gather his thoughts as he breathed the password to the Gryffindor common room.

"Rosewood," he said, as the portrait slid open for him to step through. It was silly, really, how Professor Rosewood had insisted on making her name the password, but she reasoned that this way the Gryffindor students would have no opportunity to forget their head of house. He decided that she had probably guessed that no students from any other house would care to mention her; though her teaching methods were interesting, she was hardly memorable in the ways that previous Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers had been. She wasn't a celebrity, evil, or scary; she was just a normal teacher with a quirky wardrobe. The Gryffindors certainly liked her though, Hermione was pleased that the curriculum was being properly followed, whilst the others, Harry included, were glad to get a chance to practise some real magic.

He made his way through the open room of armchairs and sofas and up the stairs that lead to his room. He had only just unpacked his book and gotten comfortable on the bed when his fellow Gryffindors stepped into the room, frowning when they caught him there.

"Really, mate," Ron prodded as he walked up and noticed that there were no additions to what Harry had written before. "If you really need help, you know Hermione caves in easily. I can't believe you haven't written anything in an hour!"

"I've had my mind on other things," Harry shrugged, trying to suppress a smile while he remembered the devilish glee he had felt from insulting Malfoy so thoroughly – something that he had only just composed himself from.

"Yeah, I'll bet! Is it because of Ginny?"

"What?" Harry snapped out of his daze.

"Blimey, you sure seem out of it lately. Always staring off into space. Does she really get to you that bad?"

"Who?"

Ron sat on his own bed, facing Harry. "Ginny. She's done a real number on you."

"No she hasn't," Harry protested.

"I think she has. Its alright-"

Harry interrupted him. "Ron, I haven't had my brain melted by a girl."

"Yeah well, something has."

"Something's what?"

"See! Something's melted your brain!"

"I've just got a lot on my mind. You know, with N.E.W.T.s and Quidditch. I didn't think everything would be so hard to manage." Harry reasoned to himself that this excuse was at least mostly true. "Heck, defeating the wizard nemesis of Britain was easier than this!"

Ron fell backwards into his bed and laughed, joined shortly by some breathy chuckles from Harry and the others. Though they hadn't been a part of the conversation, Harry and Ron were certainly loud enough in the small room for them to hear everything.

"Well hopefully you'll be spending less time fighting and more time writing," Seamus said after the laughter died down.

"Hey Seamus, that rhymes! You're a poet!" Dean exclaimed.

"So I am!" Seamus beamed.

"So you are! Tell us another one!" Neville chimed in.

The rest of the night was spent with bad poetry and girlish giggles, until it was time for lights out and they all scrambled to get ready for bed. The essay was left untouched for the time being.

Less time fighting, Harry thought as he lay in bed, a little while after everyone else had drifted off to sleep. We'll see about that.