The Midnight Duel

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

And then he met Draco Malfoy.

"So – what do you say, Potter?" Malfoy whispered, his eyes flashing round the dungeons as they left Defence Against the Dark Arts, heading towards the Slytherin's common room along with the rest of the first-years. "Wizard's Duel in the common room at midnight? Or are you scared?"

Harry, swallowing discreetly, noted most of them were watching with barely disguised interest. Nothing pleased a crowd of Slytherins quite like a conflict, it seemed. And conflict was rife and often amongst certain parts of their House.

"You wish," Harry said coolly. A furtive glance at Ron Weasley told his friend that he 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 his aid. Harry smiled, hiding his relief at Ron's eagerness. Ron contemplated Malfoy and his goons for a second with a keen eye. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

Malfoy, being put on the spot all of a sudden, didn't turn red, but a faint pink tinged his cheeks. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced between Crabbe and Goyle, who both wore very dumbfounded expressions at the proceedings.

"Crabbe," he said after a moment, turning to them with a confident, if not slightly forced, smirk that Harry couldn't wait to wipe off his face. "Crabbe's my second."

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

"Wait!" Harry said. "Ron – Snape…"

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

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 that spread over their classmates. 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 trembled.

Well, Harry thought, at least we are a source of amusement. That, though, was about the extent of their relationship with the rest of the first-years. Common ground had not been easily obtained in the Slytherin boys' dormitory these first few days.

Draco Malfoy was gradually turning a rather alarming shade of crimson. There was a gleam of malice in his eyes that Harry didn't care for. He tried to sneer at them, like they were beneath his concern, but it only managed to heighten his worried look.

"You damn blood traitor! You–"

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

Malfoy, pale and red and nostrils flaring, nodded in the end. "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 the entrance to their common room.

"Potty? Really?" Ron shook his head in disgust – as he had become wont to since their sorting – then startled as something occurred to him. "Oi!" he shouted above the sudden noise of people, who thought the show had come to a rather anti-climatic end. "Do remember to show up! Wouldn't wanna lose face now, would we?"

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

"Huh. I didn't know wizards used that one, too," Harry said, turning to Ron. He smiled, but he could feel a healthy dollop of nervous excitement filling his body; hands shaking as the reality of the situation in its entire slowly revealed itself. He clamoured for his wand in his pocket, finding comfort as a familiar surge of warmth, of magic, flowed through him. He'd never duelled before. Hell, a couple of minutes ago he'd never even heard of it. Worse still, he didn't know a single jinx or curse with the familiarity that he believed necessary if he should use them in a fight. Sure, he'd read about them, even tried a few once or twice since he got his wand, 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 they were sorted – took in Harry's appearance, then sighed.

"Look – we'll skip… whatever we have later and head straight to the library. It can't be too hard finding something useful there." Ron started steering him away from the rest of the Slytherin students, leading him 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!" Harry blinked. "God, that's awful – try say that ten times in a row…"

"One, Ron – one, Ron – one, Ron–"

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

"Then we'll make sure you know two. I've seen you in Transfiguration and Charms! Can't be too hard for you."

"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 Harry's sour mood as he pulled him along with great determination. A loud rumbling sound, however, like an echoing bellow, claimed the air between them in that instance. Wide-eyed and blushing furiously, his determined expression dissolving, Ron turned to Harry with a sheepish grin. "Well, right after an early lunch, eh?"

"All right. Wait." Harry paused, narrowing his eyes at Ron, as he steered them up to ground level, sunlight pouring in from the windows in the Entrance Hall and dancing across the floor. "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."

Harry blinked at his friend's retreating back, stopping by the marble staircase, mouth half-agape. For a second, as Ron walked onwards, he reached for words and found none forthcoming, mouth moving in silent stupor.

"W-what!"

A lunch later – Ron stuffed to bits and Harry feeling slightly nauseated in the wake of it – found them browsing the library. Harry had never been what he'd call an avid reader, not even whilst living with the Dursley's. But, when the two boys first stepped into the library of Hogwarts, Harry knew that they'd stumbled onto something wondrous.

There's magic here, he marvelled to himself, as he 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 lay as far as he could see, weighting the shelves that adorned the walls. Books that could teach one how to turn owls into cups, cups into books – and books into malevolent book-monsters! Just the thought alone brought a shit-eating grin onto his young, pale face, a twinkle of marvel in the corner of his eyes.

There were books that could teach him 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 an indefinite amount of time into this silly, wonderful world of theirs! 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 his fingertips.

So easy – yet so intricate…

He lingered there for a moment, his first practical lesson with McGonagall still fresh on his mind – it was only hours ago, after all. The match had turned instantaneously into a needle. Barely even uttered the incantation – just a word and a natural response. Like the broom the broom in their flying lesson with the Gryffindors. It had jumped into his hand without hesitation. In both cases, he'd been stunned to realize that no one else experienced the same kind of immediate reaction. Not even those of wizard families.

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 Gryffindor – what was her name again? – had come even close to pulling it off, too.

Ron pulled him out of his thoughts with an impatient tuck on his sleeve.

"We're here to look up curses, remember?" said Ron. "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."

Harry and Ron, given this was the first time they'd stepped over the threshold of the library, had no idea what the name of the librarian was – but knew from reputation that she was not to be trifled with.

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

Harry did. It's tittle – Curses and Counter-curses – held with it an air of a promise.

He smiled and nodded. "Seems useful enough. C'mon."

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

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

He could always come back for it later, he thought to himself, knowing that wasn't very likely.

As he hunkered down and began rifling through the pages, distractedly finding a blank parchments and quills from his bag, he 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 their noble endeavour.

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, Harry could see his head poking out to the side, making sure he wasn't about to fall over something.

"Here!" Ron cried, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead as he slumped in the seat beside him. There had been a tremendous thud as he had let the books spill all over the table.

"Ron." Harry scrambled to safe the parchment with the still-wet ink from his 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 Harry equally impressed as terrified. "One of them," he began, rifling through the pile of books, searching for a specific, "even had a curse that blocks the airways so you can't breathe!"

Okay, terrified – definitely terrified!

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

"Of course not!" Ron said quickly, too quickly, if Harry was 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 lose consciousness, unable to breathe, 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. "And he'll think twice the next time he tries to cross us!"

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

"It might even give us some credit in our house for once," Harry said. "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? Supremacists?"

"I don't know. Mum still hasn't written me yet. I mean, she has. Just… it didn't seem like her, you know? She seemed weird. She was fine with Fred and George. I know – I asked them. She almost seems more displeased with me than anything, and that's… well, wrong. Not that she's ever been particularly proud, really, but… I don't know…" Ron's ears were taking on a faint hue of pink, tone of voice almost shallow. "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 Harry, as he sometimes revealed little nuggets of knowledge of his family life, had been in some ways suffering the same as Harry during his childhood. Well, not the same exactly, Harry had 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, Harry thought, really only made it even more impressive that he could do magic with it at all.

Ron was, in a nutshell as far as Harry could tell, trapped in the shadows of his brothers, and Hogwarts had been his way out of that vast shadow. Getting sorted into Slytherin was an injustice beyond all sense of reason to Ron, but Harry detected a glimmer of hope for them both. Some measure of reprise lay ahead for them; he was sure of it.

"Give it time," Harry said, padding him awkwardly on the shoulder; Ron looked at him as if he'd just whacked him and Harry hurriedly lowered his 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."

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

Harry sighed, casting the dreadful thoughts away, and looked at his 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 sat down at the table."

"Well, we can't not go to dinner," said Harry, slouching in his 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!" Harry said hopefully, seeing a gleam of an idea growing in Ron's eyes.

"I don't." Ron paused, smiling triumphantly as Harry 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." Harry stood up, stuffing the parchment into his bag. "Besides, we have everything we need from here."

As they left, they quite forgot the mess of books in their mounting excitement. And right as they were on their way out of the library, the dreaded librarian entered as if out of nowhere, as if she'd been waiting for them all along – waiting for them to slip up and make a terrible, inexcusable mistake.

Maybe adult wizards did that. Harry shuddered – that thought was more than a little nerve-wrecking.

"Hey, you two!" she yelled, and Harry saw a look of recognition filter across her fierce face the moment she laid eyes on his wretched scar. "Shouldn't you two be in class?"

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

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

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

Harry shrugged. "Maybe it was your hair."

Hogwarts, Harry realized, was a treasure map of experiences just waiting to be explored, to be seen and felt, to be uncovered.

It was a magical castle, after all – how many secrets of splendour did it cradle in its embrace? How many unfound conundrums had it amassed across the great expand of time?

The thought alone made Harry grin wildly.

Meeting Fred and George had been one such experience.

After a conversation with them, which could hardly constitute as an actual conversation – Ron had kept up easily enough, though, used to the twins' distinctive mannerisms – they'd told them 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 kitchen. Allegedly.

Harry stepped up to the painting, before pausing. "Eh…" He 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. Harry, in that moment, didn't like it.

To Hell with it…

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

"Oh."

Harry whipped his head round to focus on Ron. The surprise of his voice touched his eyes. And it looked as though he had taken several steps back and to the side.

"You look surprised." Harry furrowed his brow in thought, narrowing his eyes. "Were you that far back before?"

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

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

"Better you than me, mate."

"This was your idea!"

The kitchen was an enormous, high-ceilinged room, almost a complete replica of the Great Hall above them. 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 stone-walls. 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.

Harry grinned – the room was alive!

It was abuzz with a frenzied sort of kinetic energy, almost surging so. Little green creatures Harry hadn't seen yet who reached to about his waist, bustled about with infinite energy, carrying plates and pots, snapping in and out of existence all around them.

He could feel his mouth agape, which happened far too frequently these days, tendrils of awed disbelief coursing though him.

"House-Elves," Ron said, grinning when he noticed his expression, always taking great pleasure in showing him 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 his first term at Hogwarts, he still expected to wake up any moment and finding himself back in the cupboard, realizing it had all just been this perfectly wondrous dream.

There was gratitude in that. One that, even far away in the future, where he could safely say he had discovered the other side of the coin – the darker, more brutal side – never quite went away.

They were served a quick dinner and, taking a bag of small muffins with them, left in search of an abandoned classroom for which to practice in.

There was a sense of urgency in their hurried steps, fear of discovery mingling with their 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.

As classes ended and hallways began to fill with students, banishing the sense of an old forgotten castle long since abandoned, so too did the dreaded whispers emerge more frequently. The whispers followed him as they ascended and descended staircases that moved in every which way, adding to his already burgeoning feeling of paranoia. Were they the whispers of his fame, merely a by-product of his strange, inexplicable past? Or were they part of a more elaborate scheme? Had Snape already found out about their youthful delinquency? Coming to put a stopper on their misdeeds.

"Harry Potter…"

"Beside the tall redhead!"

"Slytherin… Harry Potter…"

"Who'd have guessed?"

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

People were bloody curious.

Sometimes even the teachers seemed disappointed or confused about it – none more so than Snape, of course. Though Harry could still vividly see the impression of quiet disbelief McGonagall had favoured him in their first Transfiguration class. And he had a feeling it wasn't just because of the ease in which he'd completed the first spell she taught them.

The whispers, though… the never-ending wave of voices that clung to his shadow wherever he went; it certainly weren't in their favour when they tried to be inconspicuous.

They'd been walking about the corridors of Hogwarts for some time, more than Harry cared to admit, when they at last admitted to themselves that, really, they had no idea where they were going. Hogwarts was vast and still far too new for them to fully navigate.

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

"Defence classroom?" Ron asked at last.

"Yeah." Harry nodded and turned on the spot, going in the direction he thought was the quickest – the one they'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 Harry'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 their little duo. Harry cast his eyes about, eyeing the students round them. Most of them were staring at him 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 Harry didn't find the thought very appealing, either. But beggars couldn't be choosers, right?

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

"Excuse me…"

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

"Okay. We have a couple of hours before we need to leave for the Trophy Room." He grabbed a muffin and started munching on it as he glanced down his notes, taking in the different spells and their usefulness. He 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 his shoulder.

"Perhaps. But this isn't a classroom kind of thing. Duels are… fast, right?"

"I doubt Malfoy will be capable of very much."

"Even if that's the case, 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." Harry scanned the list one 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? Isn't it an O.W.L.'s charm, though?"

Harry nodded, looking at the spell again, studying it. It was complex, far more so than anything else they'd covered so far. But somehow, somewhere, he felt it was within his capabilities to master.

Taking great care, he drew out his 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 him and a nearly undetectable pulse of some sort flowed outwards, settling before him as though it was a sheen of liquid heat.

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 Harry with his wand raised against him, 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," Harry said, his countenance a turmoil of fond exasperation and frustrated annoyance. "Should be simple enough."

Ron, going back to the desk to study the charm in his notes, came back to stand face-to-face with Harry 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, Harry thought. It was all over the place. "Here goes."

Despite knowing better, Harry braced himself for the impact like he was a expecting a fistfight.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Nothing happened.

"Dammit!" Ron swore, jabbing his wand in offense. "Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus – Petrificus Totalus – PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

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

"Stiff up my arse–"

"Ron!"

Ron could have a bit of a temper – to put it mildly. Sometimes it was a good thing; most times it got them into all kinds of trouble.

This time, however, he calmed himself.

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

"You ready? Your shield still there?" he asked half-a-minute later and, without waiting for a response, waved his wand. Better, Harry thought, still a little too much of a flick…

"Petrificus Totalus!"

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

His eyes, the only movable part on his body, were going wild as he heard Ron's whoops of sheer joy.

"Did you see that, mate!"

Felt it, too, you idiot!

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

And, more importantly, he seemed to remember Harry.

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

"How do I reverse it?"

Harry cast his eyes meaningful to the desk with his notes, small hiccups and strangled sounds emanating from his sealed lips.

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

The powerlessness. He wanted to shiver, and found to his frustration that his body wasn't even capable of that.

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

"Finite Incantatem."

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

Utter unadulterated fear.

Ron, still giddy with the sense of success, seemed unable to contain all that he felt in that moment.

"That was bloody fantastic! Fantastic!" he cried, whopping his wand in the air. "It worked! It actually worked! Fantastic!"

"There's a wizard in you." Harry hoisted himself to his feet, narrowing his eyes at his own wand. Maybe he should be happy for Ron's success, but his own failure allowed him no such respite. Taking a calming breath, focusing on nothing but the spell and his intentions with the spell, he waved his wand again.

A shimmer of magic slivered out of the wand. There was a visible disturbance in the air before him, like he'd super-charged the air with immense, white-hot flames. This time he felt the magic settle with more conviction. This time – he was ready.

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

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

Two boys and their wands – all they were.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The charm took effect instantaneously, an invisible jet of reality-bending energy flying at him. It struck his shield, flaring wildly at the impact, and bounced back at Ron, striking him. His arms, stiffly, snapped to his sides as his legs came together and he fell backwards with a solid thud when he met the stony floor.

Ah… that felt good.

This time it was Ron's turn to glare menacingly. However, Ron didn't hold Harry's hatred towards powerlessness, it seemed, for his eyes betrayed the glare with a warm, merry delight. Almost as though he was enjoying the experience.

And why not, Harry silently wondered – this was fun!

Jabbing his wand, he released him with a Finite Incantatem.

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

Harry furrowed his brow, confused. "Like you, I imagine."

"No. I say the spells – do the whole wand wavering thing. You just…" He flourished his hand in a wide arc. "Wave your wand. And barely at that…"

"Well, as do most 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? Harry thought, filling the question for later. Most likely one of his brothers. Just how many did Ron have?

"Well." Harry shrugged, reaching for a smile that he found hard to find; he was a little uncomfortable with the tangible air of awe in Ron's voice – a not-so-subtle by-product of his legend – borne out from a night a decade's past. "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; Harry rather admired the trust he placed in him.

Petrificus Totalus!

Ron stiffened immediately as if bound by invisible ropes. Harry nodded, satisfied, and cancelled the effects with a twitch of his 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, Harry had to admit that he had had about the most fun afternoon he 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, Harry supposed. He'd mastered three spells to the point where, even during the heat of a duel, he'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 he even had an ace in the hole.

That one, however, he still found himself unsure of. It seemed wrong. Cruel. Suffocating his opponents seemed…

Three spells, he thought with faint 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 they began skipping classes and they 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 longing amusement in Ron's voice. Barely a week ago, he had seemed almost frightened by his mother's rather infamous temper. Now he welcomed it.

Neglect did funny things to a boy.

Harry ought to know that.

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

Ron glanced at him, grinning broadly. "We're already in trouble. Might as well earn it."

Harry nodded, a mounting smile flourishing on his features, as well. They 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 they'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 theirs. Which, Harry supposed, was what Ron and Himself were trying, too. Carving out of the wreckage of life a little place for themselves in which they could live – as they wanted.

Stopping at the corner of a corridor, he 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, he made a dash as hurriedly yet quietly as he could across the corridor.

When they reached the third-floor, looking at a very specific door, Harry 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.

Harry wasn't sure if he found Dumbledore inexplicably awesome or just mad.

Maybe a bit of both. One thing was for certain, however – looking at the door, Harry was wrought with a desire to look at just what lay beyond.

He shook his head, grinning – one could almost not help but think he liked getting into trouble.

Surely, though, no such drastic matters as deaths happened within a school. But Harry knew, even as the thought slivered through him, that it was an idea fostered by his 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 he'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.

Death was… Death.

Death…

Thinking of his parents, the inescapable conclusion made him fell heavy all of a sudden. When he first learned about magic there had been an irrational idea of hope mounting in his heart. Now, however… now… yeah, now…

Thoughts too vast and too intricate for a young mind such as his filled him, consumed him…

"He's not here yet," Ron mused thoughtfully, breaking Harry's inward trek of thoughts and ideas of death.

Such dreary thoughts you shroud yourself in, my boy, a voice said as it slithered through his mind, so low and fleeting that Harry almost didn't hear it, and quickly forgot all about it.

"Maybe he won't show up?"

"Oh, he will," Ron said, giving him 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 his heart he didn't quite manage to mask. Harry wanted this. Wanted Malfoy to show up so that he could defeat him as soundly as possible. For Ron had, in fact, been right. They needed some kind of recognition within their House, something of importance that could grant them a measure of leeway and leniency within the common room. Defeating Malfoy could serve as an immense catalyst for that.

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

It was in the latter thought he found most nobility.

But still, mingled with his thrill of excitement, was a hefty dollop of apprehension. Yes, in the few classes they'd had so far, he'd proven far superior to Malfoy – to everyone, in fact. But that was in a classroom, a setting where he was protected, where he 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.

It had just passed midnight.

And then at last footsteps could be heard from outside the Trophy Room. Ron and Harry scuttled behind a row of trophies, hiding in the shadows, peeking towards the door that stood illuminated in the soft shafts of starlight, which poured in through the windows. Waiting. Wands raised and at the ready.

–Adventure was afoot–

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, Harry knew it immediately.

He gestured for Ron to stay put and revealed himself to Malfoy. Crabbe was the first to notice him, poking on Malfoy's shoulder and pointing to him when he had his attention.

"Oh – you came, Potter," he sneered, the gleam of barely-concealed confidence, of glee, 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. He'd thought Malfoy would be fair; it had never occurred to him that he'd cheat his way to victory.

–And deception was afoot–

Stupid. Harry had been stupid. So fucking stupid!

"Finally ready to face your betters, I see," Malfoy said, twirling his wand lazily. "After tonight, the whole school will know of your failure. Know you for what you truly are – a fraud! They'll know I bested you!"

Harry did not respond, too absorbed with things he couldn't perceive. Why was he so confident?

Malfoy, smirking in the silence, glanced back towards the entrance as though making sure they were in the clear to proceed.

Harry followed his eyes, for something seemed so very wrong and he was still searching for it. He hadn't been this confident in the corridor just this morning – there had been fear, uncertainty, in his eyes back then.

He had no right to be confident!

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

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

A shadow fell over the entrance of the room then, as someone appeared at the threshold, bathed in pale moonlight. As the new arrival waived through the light, Harry recognized him at once.

Marcus Flint, intoning an indiscernible incantation, leaped forth into the room, a jet of cursed light Harry didn't recognize leaving his wand. It struck his 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.

–And then the game was afoot–

Harry's 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, sputtering incomprehensibly at Ron's sudden and loud appearance, never even managed 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 their three foes to Harry's side, coming to stand in the protective reach of his magic.

He was grinning with exhilaration. Madly so.

Harry, too, was grinning like a madman.

"I think, Malfoy, that 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, Harry knew this duel had turned into a fight. Good. He never really got the point of turning his back to his opponent and pacing away, even if Ron vehemently tried to defend its values.

This felt purer, somehow. Less show and more honest.

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 snivelling coward–"

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

"Rictusempra!" he cried.

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

It flipped off his shield and, guided by instinct and natural ability, Harry 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 – from where he began rolling on the floor and laughing so hard it brought him to tears.

His wand clattered loudly to the floor. Useless.

Malfoy swore.

Ron whooped.

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

Harry watched the trajectory of the spell with careful scrutiny, where it had just travelled, his mouth opening slightly in wonder. Again, like flying on a broom, Harry hadn't known he could direct the deflected spells in the direction he wanted, until he 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 Harry instinctually dived for the ground – shattered his shield at last.

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

Expelliarmus!

His wand-movement was precise and his intent clear, and a crimson jet soared from the tip of his wand. But his 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 Harry 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 Harry's body. Goyle was by no means a talented wizard, but he had size on his side, and Ron would be dispatched in moments unless he did something.

Something drastic. Something daring.

Oh, yeah, he wanted this.

A thought. So simple. Yet thoughts, like ideas, possess the power to change the way you perceive the world around you, the way you perceive yourself. Harry knew that to be true, knew that there could be no doubt.

It was with one such thought that Harry 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 sanity. Thoughts can slay innocence in the blink of an unforgiving minute.

This thought – oh, this thought – would haunt Harry for a long, long time.

The sickly yellow light struck Malfoy barely a second after Ron and Goyle started their brawl, and immediately Harry knew something was wrong – or rather, that something had gone terribly right.

Malfoy 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 with Ron as he registered Malfoy's voice, and Harry 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 in that moment, Harry wished he'd known a true Stunning Charm. Just to spare him having to hear his friend's horrific and fearful cries.

"Potter – please… DON'T!"

Ron, nose broken and right-eye bruising a rather alarming dark-purple colour, 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, Harry realized with a touch of shame, seemed so very far away now – when reality hit home with a vengeance.

He suffocated before them. 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, Harry thought he'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 drew in an enormous amount of air.

Sounds reached Harry's ears, but they refused to make sense. Only when the persistent tugging on his sleeve became a painful pinch on his arm did he register Ron speaking.

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

He nodded dumbly, following Ron with a blank mind and a battered sense of guilt. 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.

Malfoy would forever hold a candle of fear for Harry.

And Harry realized that magic was wondrous. But it was also terrifying – what it could enable young boys to do. What he could work with a wand and a thought alone.

For the first time Harry realized that Ollivander had granted him more than just access to magic.

He had given him a means to do great and terrible things.

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

Harry raised his 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 them, furious. Livid. Behind him, limping and hurt but very much awake, was Crabbe, still giggling slightly, who must have escaped without them noticing. Neither Ron nor Harry had taken the time to bind him, Harry realized.

Shit, shit, shit!

Shit.

They'd been caught.

End of Chapter

Author's note: Third time's the charm. In my overzealousness to get this chapter out after I'd tighten it up and change the narration I missed a couple of spots. Hope it went better this time.

Please – leave a thought on your way out. Even if it's just the fact that you hated everything about it.

Good day to you.