Harry's leg bounced up and down as he poked at the mashed potatoes on his plate. Dinner looked phenomenal today—walnut bread, roasted asparagus, and perfectly-seared steaks.
He mostly felt like throwing up.
"It's just tutoring, mate." Ron glanced at him, patting his knee. "No need to look like that."
"Like what?" Harry replied absently as he made little craters of mashed potato with his spoon.
"Like you're about to be pummeled by a troll."
"Been there," Harry hummed.
"You hardly got pummeled-"
"At least you showed up for dinner," Hermione noted. "I don't think Malfoy's even here at the dining hall."
Ron snickered. "Guess he's more scared."
"What? I'm not scared," Harry protested, letting his spoon drop onto the table. He opened his mouth to argue, wanting to explain Malfoy had called him blood traitor.
But as soon as Hermione looked over, Harry snapped his mouth shut.
"Never mind."
Maybe it was better to not bring that up. The Gryffindors around him would riot if they heard. At least, he wouldn't bring it up tonight, right here, right now.
"Harry, stop bouncing your leg," Hermione huffed. "You're shaking the whole table."
"I'm not nervous. I'm just worried I won't be able to teach all that well. It's been awhile since I've practiced."
"You didn't practice?" Hermione's eyes widened. Even Ron looked a bit appalled. "Did you at least prepare a lesson plan?"
"Lesson plan?"
"Merlin, he's worse than me," Ron breathed. Hermione just blinked.
"It'll be fine! I'm probably going to have him drill today. It's fine. It's our first meeting." Harry grabbed the goblet of water, gulping it down. Some of it splashed onto his robe. He wiped his mouth and stood.
"But I thought you had to submit a lesson plan?" Hermione asked.
"I'll write a short one before the class ends. It's just tutoring. Like Ron said."
"Yeah, like I said." Ron nodded along. "We'll see you as soon as it ends. Er, good luck."
Harry checked the clock. Ten minutes. Damn. He'd been dragging his feet, and now he was going to be late.
"Thanks. I'll see you guys." Harry grabbed his book bag and headed out, but not before he caught the shared grimace between Ron and Hermione.
Maybe he should have prepared a little more.
The second classroom down the right seemed empty.
Harry peered around the open door, eyes adjusting to the dark. Autumn had approached hard and fast, and the sun was already down. Through the narrow windows at the top of the wall, Harry could see faint stars blanketing the night sky. They were the only source of light that stole through the room.
"Lumos." Harry sent the ball of light spinning to the center. The light fizzled out, spreading itself evenly among the torches.
"Bloody hell!" Harry nearly jumped a foot when he saw Malfoy, sitting with his back against the far wall, leg propped up against a stool.
"You're late," Malfoy drawled. He flicked his wand at the door, and it slammed shut behind Harry. Harry stomped over to the door and opened it again. There was no way he was going to tutor Malfoy in an empty classroom with the door shut. Malfoy could stab him and he'd bleed out for two days before anyone found his dead, ghostly body.
"Afraid to be alone with me?" Malfoy asked, a sneer twisting on his lips.
Harry ground his teeth. He set his book bag down.
"Hello to you, too, Malfoy."
"So, what are we learning today, Mr. Potter? Charms? Jinxes? An Unforgivable or two?"
Merlin, Harry could strangle him with ease. "No. We're going to drill basic spells. Or work on whatever you need help with to pass the test."
Malfoy looked rather unimpressed. Harry ignored him and began pushing the desks and chairs out of the way so there would be space for them to practice. Malfoy watched him shuffle the tables toward the edge of the room for a good few minutes, until Harry finally whirled around and glared.
"Well, are you going to get up?"
"Are you a wizard or not?" Malfoy rolled his eyes. He flicked his wand again. The rest of the desks and chairs crashed into each other as they flew across the stone floor and to the back of the classroom.
Harry felt the back of his neck flush. He shoved the chair he was still gripping against the wall and turned around. "Fine. Let's start then. Let me see your basics."
Malfoy pulled himself to his feet and stepped into the light. Harry couldn't help giving him a once-over. He felt his heart skip when he saw how thin Malfoy had become. The boy's robes hung off of him like cloth on a coat hanger. His face had always been sharp, but now his bones were even more pronounced than the last time Harry had saw him, giving him a haggard, sickly appearance. Malfoy raised his eyebrows, and Harry looked away.
"So are you assessing me?"
"Er, yes, that's what I'll do. Just to get a baseline," Harry stammered out. He should have planned this better.
"Baseline of what, exactly?" Malfoy said. Harry swore his voice sounded hoarser than usual.
"Well, go ahead, show me a basic hex."
"You're serious? This is insulting, Potter," Malfoy said, crossing his arms.
"Great. You're the one that needed tutoring," Harry snapped, almost regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He hadn't come to fight.
Malfoy only glowered some more. Harry headed toward the front of the classroom, putting a few more feet between them. He mentally ran down the list of drilling rules, wondering how many of them would be proper to set in this situation. Distance wouldn't be something to worry about, but he should probably define ground rules on what types of spells to use, especially if they were planning to duel in the future. Most practice duels were hexes and jinxes anyway. Only truly advanced or official duels sanctioned curses. Especially since it had been at least a few months since he last properly trained.
"Hex me when-"
A flash of red light. Harry barely had time to react, drawing his wand in time to deflect the spell.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"You said hex." Malfoy shrugged, a satisfied glint in his eyes.
"That wasn't even a fucking hex!"
"Yes, it was. Are you blind, Potter?"
"If you're going to attempt to duel me instead of drill, fine."
Malfoy sent another flash of red light spiraling in Harry's direction before Harry even finished his sentence. The spell rebounded off of Harry's shield, careening into a stack of chairs. Harry blindly surged forward with a silent Immobulus, but the spell went nowhere near Malfoy, instead disappearing into the corner of the room.
Both of them were crouching now, wands held defensively in front. Harry had to admit Malfoy's form was nearly perfect. His stance was tight, protecting his core. Malfoy moved lightly—there was no power in his stance, only speed. He carried it all in his wrists. Harry stalked around the perimeter of the room, waiting for his opportunity to strike. Malfoy was a cobra, all anticipation and tension, grey eyes flickering back and forth as he matched Harry's footwork.
The room erupted in a flurry of light, in complete silence apart from the crashing of spells against desks and chairs. Harry wasn't sure who attacked first, but found himself out of breath as he pushed forward, deflecting the machine-gun fire of Malfoy's stunners.
"Stupefy!"
Surprised to hear Malfoy verbalize, Harry faltered, nearly dropping his guard as a silent counter-jinx whizzed past his leg.
Malfoy must be slowing; Harry noted the brief pauses between spells now. They had become less machine-gun fire, more measured, tight, and accurate. He could see the tense concentration in Malfoy's face as the two of them circled each other.
But Harry's skill lay in his ability to hold out. He hadn't always been the fastest or the most powerful. Harry deflected another flash as he crouched lower, letting the follow-up jinx pass harmlessly over his head. Harry's success in those dirty duels during the war came from an ability to pick up the minute habits of his opponents.
Malfoy sent a curse in Harry's direction. Surprised, Harry felt it slam into his shield, shattering it. He spun out of the way right before noting that Malfoy's back heel was no longer slightly lifted.
Stuck in the mud. That's what the old dueling club called it. When you threw out a particularly powerful spell, sometimes the arm movement could tip you off balance. It might cause someone to lock the front leg, or put weight on the back heel. Just a little bit, but that little bit was enough to end the fight.
Harry aimed his next spell at Malfoy's back leg.
"Shit!" Harry heard Malfoy grunt as the hex hit him square in the calf. It sent him sprawling across the stone floor. Malfoy didn't lose grip of his wand, but Harry had won anyway.
Harry didn't lower his wand, but he straightened, trying to catch his breath. The blood rushing through his head was almost dizzying. He planted a hand on the wall, trying to push down the adrenaline and borderline panic. Harry had only counted a few curses, so Malfoy hadn't even been acting particularly unsportsmanlike. But the duel had been intense. Angry. Reminiscent of the duels he'd fought back in the war. He could hear Malfoy breathing hard from across the room. Malfoy's chest heaved as he flung an arm over his face.
"Shit," Malfoy exhaled again.
Harry turned to look at the clock. They'd dueled for a good six and a half minutes. Nearly double the time of a typical duel. Fairly decent. Plus, he'd beaten Malfoy, fair and square.
Harry pushed the sweaty hair away from his eyes and grabbed a flask of water from his bag. He felt strangely hopeful. If Malfoy could duel like this already, he didn't see any reason for the tutoring sessions to go on for long. The practical aspect of Defense against the Dark Arts was mostly centered on spellwork and footwork anyway.
"Let's end class here," Malfoy suggested roughly from the floor.
"Why? Sore loser?" Harry took another swig from the water flask. His skin still buzzed with the intensity of the duel, and his hand trembled as he set the flask back down.
"Oh, please."
Harry felt uneasy as he stood there, staring at Malfoy's Adam's apple as it bobbed up and down. Malfoy sat, getting to his feet before Harry could react.
"Why? Happy you won a little duel?" Malfoy mocked, not even deigning to look in Harry's direction as he also retrieved a flask from his book bag. Harry caught the shake of Malfoy's hand, too, as he tipped the glass toward his mouth.
"Your form needs work," Harry said.
"Yeah?"
"You let your back heel drop."
"I know I did."
"Then why did you?"
"Trade-off."
"Well, it was an awful trade-off," Harry muttered.
"Broke your shield, didn't it?" Malfoy leaned back against the wall, crossing his ankles.
"Useless if you miss the follow-up."
"I would've landed it."
"But you didn't."
"I said I would've landed it."
"Admit it. You lost fair and square." Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy.
Malfoy's hand twitched toward his robe pocket. "Rematch."
"Only if you admit you lost the duel."
Malfoy spread out his hands. "No witnesses."
Harry felt the intense urge to roll his eyes.
"Fine, then we're not ending the class here. Show me that arm movement again, and this time don't drop your heel."
Malfoy reluctantly moved into his dueling stance and held it as Harry circled him. Harry felt a flash of deja vu to when he used to teach the DA. Falling back into this role was almost too natural: correcting posture, giving pointers. He could forget he was even tutoring Malfoy if not for his incessant complaints.
"Your elbow is too tight. Don't lock it."
Harry could see Malfoy's jaw tighten in response from this distance. Harry could also smell the distinct scent of sandalwood and parchment, intermixed with the salt of sweat. He was suddenly glad Malfoy could not read his mind.
"Your elbow is still stiff."
"It's not," Malfoy snapped. "This is how you hold a proper stance. Stop telling me to soften it."
"Whoever taught you that is wrong."
"If I soften my elbow any further, my wand hand will drop and then I might as well roll over and die."
Harry stopped and huffed a sigh. "Look, no, not like that. Can I adjust your arm?"
"Don't."
Harry let his hovering hand drop.
"Fine, I'll demonstrate. Hold your elbow like this, close enough to protect your ribs, and soft enough so you can still adjust quickly. If you tense it like that, you'll have more power but you won't be able to counter very fast."
Malfoy half-heartedly imitated Harry's pose.
"Yeah. Something like that would be better. I noticed you did a good job keeping your core tight, so you want to maintain that still."
Malfoy let his arms drop and stood up. "Rematch me."
"No. We're going to drill. I'll hex and you counter. Keep that elbow relaxed."
Harry took a few steps back, until there was good enough distance between the two of them. Malfoy looked distinctly displeased as he lowered back into a duelling stance. This grudging dynamic was new to both of them.
Harry raised his wand and exaggerated his wand movement, sending a hex at Malfoy's chest. Malfoy countered it while maintaining his stance.
"Again," Harry said.
The two drilled the counter for a few more minutes. Harry started to shorten his wand movement, finally tightening it so much that it was back to his normal duelling standard. Malfoy's counters were now almost textbook. Harry had to give it to him—he was a competent student. Why did he even need tutoring? Anyone could've taught Malfoy.
"Last one," Harry called out.
This time, Harry aimed slightly behind Malfoy. Sometimes, if the duelist wasn't paying attention, aiming behind them could throw them off balance enough to prevent an accurate counter.
What Harry was expecting was Malfoy to sidestep or counter correctly. But when the spell flashed past Malfoy's ear, he didn't do either. His entire stance changed. Harry saw him coil inwards, saw the pupils of his eyes dilate so quickly that his gray eyes looked almost black in the torchlight.
The curse came so fast Harry didn't even realize until he was flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him.
Harry stared at the ceiling, struggling to breathe. He put a hand on his chest, feeling for injuries. His fingers ran over something jagged.
Shocked, Harry touched it again. Something sharp was embedded in him. Harry felt a bubble of panic rising. He tried to open his mouth to call for help, but he still couldn't catch his breath. The cloth on his chest was starting to feel wet. Harry pulled his hand away and looked at it; the tips of his fingers came away dark with blood.
He heard someone shuffling toward him. Panicked, gasping breaths. A long, long pause. Then footsteps and silence.
"Help," Harry was barely able to wheeze out, his eyes pinwheeling around the room. He couldn't move. There was an anvil on his chest, pinning him like a bug to the ground.
"Wait," Harry choked out again, before blackness rushed over him like a wave.