Love Under Will

Chapter Three: Duels and Detention

The morning brought with it the first real snowfall of the season. When Draco awoke after his fitful night’s sleep, he found the whole of Hogwarts shrouded in white. Everywhere houses buzzed with anticipation; by noon, if it kept up, there were guaranteed to be excellent snowball fights. Malfoy was glad for the clamor and racket being made; a school full of excitement made it easier for him to keep his mind off Harry Potter.

He thought he was doing a good job tuning in to the general flurry of chatter and tuning out thoughts of the green-eyed Gryffindor, who kept intruding into his mind’s eye and alarming Malfoy by looking better and better each time. He thought he was genuinely interested in the discussion of how much Gryffindor ass his house would kick in the snow later on. But he didn’t really start to wake up until…

"What’samatter, Harry? Couldn’t sleep well?"

"All right, I guess. Why d’you ask?"

"You just look like bloody hell, s’all."

"Been having wet dreams again, Potter?"

"Oh, honestly, Fred, not at breakfast!"

"Ah, well, if the lady insists."

"Lucky save, Harry."

Malfoy, walking by the Gryffindors on his way out, thought Harry didn’t look all that bad.

Come to mention it…

Holy fuck.

~~~~~~~~

"Mr. Potter, what exactly are you doing with Malfoy’s wolfsbane?"

"Waiting for him to tell me what to do with it, sir," replied Harry suavely, grappling with the huge clump of herbs in front of him. A very Malfoyesque smirk was playing about the corners of his mouth.

"Mr. Malfoy, please instruct Mr. Potter that he is not to let his own lack of intelligence impede your progress in this course."

"You heard the man, Potter. Chop chop."

Harry gave Malfoy a raised eyebrow and curtly lay into the wolfsbane with the very dull lab knife Draco had personally chosen for him.

Day two of the Deathjoy Serum lectures had commenced, and they were now learning the complicated process by which the potion was made. Since no one could figure out why on earth anyone would actually use the potion to begin with, both houses were for once in full agreement that the whole thing was a waste of time. Malfoy was fairly sure Snape must have foreseen this, as his splitting them into partners from opposite houses was the only thing keeping them all from tearing their hair out in boredom. Snape was very perceptive that way, Malfoy knew, although a secondary motive must have also been to enjoy watching Potter seethe as he tried in vain to cut through the thick gnarled strands of wolfsbane. Malfoy was certainly having a good time.

"Oh, very nice, Potter," he chuckled. "You know, cutting the plant is always recommended. Although I will say your way of banging it on the end of the table is highly amusing."

"Shut up and get me a real knife."

"Oh, there aren’t any left. But cut it crossways, like this—" he demonstrated briefly, gracefully carving a slice off as though the knife were razor sharp—"then you’ll at least put it out of its misery."

Harry stared at Draco, then down at the herb, then grumbled something inaudible. "Oh, cheer up, Potter. Maybe you’ll win points by producing the world’s first Deathjoy Syrup."

"And maybe I’ll use it on you, after I accidentally mess up a few key ingredients."

"You’re one to talk, Potter, having so many key ingredients missing yourself. A proper family, a proper pedigree—"

"Well, at least my pedigree isn’t longer than my—" Harry ceased abruptly as Snape came around to eye his progress. He irritably sawed at an edge of the herb. When Snape had moved away again he resumed his challenging glare at Malfoy.

Malfoy said flatly, eyes glimmering, "I have a Very. Long. Pedigree."

Harry’s ears turned pink, and he distractedly hacked off a huge chunk of wolfsbane, which flew across the room, hitting Pansy Parkinson squarely in the backside.

Draco and Harry both exploded with laughter. It didn’t help that Pansy didn’t notice a thing, and they found themselves choking back snorts, which only made it worse. Draco refrained from looking at Harry, but he couldn’t help but notice how new and fresh Harry’s laugh was—a resonant chuckle Draco had rarely heard.

He was thinking it was a very nice laugh when Snape was before them, seething.

"Potter! What do you think you’re doing?"

"It was my fault, Professor," Malfoy blurted without thinking.

What the –what did you just DO?!

The entire class, including Snape, was now staring at Malfoy with collective astonishment.

"I tried to show Potter how it’s supposed to be done and I, well, I suppose I’m a bit too efficient for my own good." He raised an eyebrow and smirked confidently up at Snape.

"Yes…" Snape appeared gravely perplexed. "Mr. Malfoy, perhaps try not to be quite so thorough next time."

"He can’t help it. He has a very thorough pedigree," Harry chimed in with perfect sang froid.

Draco shot Harry a look, saw the green eyes dancing with challenge, and had to fight not to laugh. It helped that Harry’s gaze was lingering on him, a kind of soft amusement in his expression. When Snape left them alone, Draco stared back at Harry, his eyes warily daring him to say ‘thank you.’ Harry, however, didn’t seem about to acknowledge that anything remotely extraordinary had occurred.

They looked silently at each other, until a chill suddenly ran through Malfoy, and he turned away.

~~~~~~~~

"Take that, Malfoy, you slimy son of a bitch!"

Ah…music to my ears.

It seemed Ronald Weasley was never happier than when he was yelling insults at Draco Malfoy. Today the pleasure was apparently doubled by the fact that he could also throw snowballs at the Slytherin with impunity, since everybody else was doing it.

No one was quite sure how the war had begun; Malfoy suspected it started with Millicent chunking a clod of mud deceptively packed in snow at Parvati, who, instead of just reciprocating, attempted with a whoop to tackle her and make her eat the concoction she’d just thrown. By the time Malfoy came to Millicent’s rescue and pulled Parvati off of her, he was being pelted with various frozen objects, all of them cold and wet, by the Gryffindor fifth-years. Weasley had just hurled an icicle at his heart, and Malfoy leveled a snowball at him in retaliation. It struck him in the forehead with a satisfying ‘sploosh!’ and, far more importantly, caused laughter from among the other Gryffindors—especially Granger, who snickered before she could help herself, to Ron’s infinite embarrassment. Turning even pinker than he already was from the bite of the wind, he chunked a thick block of sludge at Crabbe. The thought didn’t seem to occur to Crabbe to dodge it until he was fielding a chest full of snow.

"Next time, try moving out of the way, you idiot!" Malfoy said, his laugh more amusement than contempt.

Crabbe looked up and blinked, "He was too fast!"

Malfoy grinned. "That’s okay. You take Thomas and Bongbottom and I’ll go after Weasley for you." He scrambled for the most densely packed snow he could find and lucked out on a wedge of ice caked in mud. "Perfect," he said with a wink at Crabbe, who unfortunately had lumbered off to pour snow down Neville’s coat. Malfoy flexed his gloved fingers and rounded off the ice-mud combo with some fresh, very wet snow. Dean was ducking a punch from Goyle, who had decided after getting an eyeful of water not to bother with the whole snow thing. Malfoy watched the whole yard-full of fighting with a smirking satisfaction. Beautiful day, really, he thought, as he raised his arm to hurl the wad of snow at Weasley—

At the same moment he felt a strong hand on his arm, and a thrill rushed through him. Even without turning around he somehow knew exactly whose fingers were grabbing his wrist, and a sardonic smile flickered across his face.

"You don’t really want to do that, do you?" Harry said lightly behind him, his voice tickling Malfoy’s ear.

Draco turned around and eyed him, the snowball still clenched in his fist, Harry still grappling with him. His smirk gave a charming lightheartedness to his features, and Draco’s own gaze softened under his. "Are you asking me to dance, Potter?"

"Only if you’ll follow my lead," answered Harry smoothly.

Draco had to fight off a shiver of pleasure at being right where he was, and, slightly alarmed at just how right it felt, he broke away from Harry’s grasp and nonchalantly tossed the ball of ice in the air. "I think not, Potter. Best get someone who’s in love with you for that—shouldn’t be too hard to find. Perhaps Colin Creevey would volunteer."

Instead of retorting, Harry actually laughed.

Malfoy couldn’t really believe it. "Oh, well," he said. "Your loss, Potter." And he tossed the snowball at Harry’s head.

"Reciproca," Harry snapped promptly, and the snowball turned and whizzed toward Draco.

Malfoy ducked, retorted, "Duplicatem reciproca!" and pointed his wand—the ice cloned itself, and both clods rushed at Harry.

"Duplicatem reciproca!" echoed Harry.

Now there were four, all coming for Malfoy, who stepped back, thinking quickly, and finally shouted, "Petrificus leviosa!" The ice turned into wood. He froze the balls in midair with a hovering charm just before they reached him, and just as quickly hurled them back to Harry with breakneck speed.

Harry’s eyes widened. "Incendio!" he cried out, just in the nick of time. Flames shot onto the careening wooden clods and sped back toward Malfoy. People were starting to gather around, watching them.

Malfoy gulped. "Hydralis!" The flames went out just in time and he yelled, "Reciproca!" over his shoulder as he ducked the four snowballs, which went flying back towards Harry.

Several people applauded.

Draco looked around. The rest of the Gryffindors and the Slytherins had encircled them curiously, looking on in mild excitement as Draco and Harry faced off. Harry, who had a hovering charm on the frozen objects, seemed quite bewildered by the response, but he kept his cool as Draco called out, "What’s the matter, Potter? You can handle the Dark Lord but you can’t handle this?"

"Tarentellegra," Harry said promptly, and Malfoy was doing an uncontrollable, jerky quick-step.

"What’s going on?" Neville was asking anxiously.

"It’s a wizard’s duel between Malfoy and Potter," Lavender answered.

"The first one to bow out or miss thinking of a proper spell in time loses," Hermione added. "You can’t use your hands."

"Will Harry be all right?" Neville squeaked.

Draco, no longer dancing, rolled his eyes and sent a tickling charm towards Harry, who dodged and responded with the Fernunculus charm. Draco blocked it with the slug-belching spell Ron had unsuccessfully tried on him once.

"He’ll be fine, Neville," Weasley said dismissively. "After all, he’s taken on You-Know-Who—he can handle someone as incompetent as Malfoy."

Draco couldn’t respond, as he was too busy returning Harry’s Leg-locker curse with a Conjunctivitus spell that rendered those charming nerd-boy glasses quite useless. Since Harry was momentarily quite blind, it would have been the perfect instant to level him with a stunning spell, but just as Draco raised his wand again, Harry shouted "Optolis reparo!" frantically and his vision returned. "Lumos solarem!" he yelled, flinging his wand at the Slytherin. Draco was instantly blinded by a huge light beam slamming against his eyes.

"Reducio!" the light became a tiny thread. He yelled back, temper rising, "Humphrendium!"

A boggart shot out of his wand, which was starting to quiver slightly—at least, he’d intended it to be a boggart, but what emerged was a hideous sight—a Dementor. Their ever-enlarging audience gasped and a shiver ran through both Harry and Draco as the black hooded figure moved slowly for Harry.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry yelled, his voice breathtakingly confident. The end of his wand exploded in a huge, silvery shape that it took Malfoy no time at all to recognize as the ghostly animal that had charged him that day on the Quidditch field when he stood on Crabbe’s shoulders disguised as a Dementor. He backed away as the boggart wavered and vanished—the stag dissolved into air just before it reached Draco, who couldn’t help looking back at Harry, thoroughly impressed. Potter looked ready to kill, however, and too late, Malfoy realized that launching a Dementor on him might not have been the wisest thing to do. Harry raised his wand, out for blood.

What followed next was very rapid and very heated:

"Engorgio!"

"Minimus!"

"Saligulum!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Reductor!"

"Avis!"

"Felinis!"

"Mobili-corpus!"

"Leadenate!"

"Wingarmentia!"

With a whisk, Harry’s shirt flew off. He looked down in shock, then back at Draco, who, apart from being momentarily stunned that anyone’s torso could look that perfect, realized at once what could only be the outcome of this if allowed to continue….

"Expelliarmus!"

They shouted at the same time. Their wands gave a violent shake and flew up out of their hands, colliding with a crack about thirty feet above their heads before falling to the ground. Draco, blood pounding in his veins, quickly bent to retrieve his wand, which seemed to be pulsing with as much energy as he felt. Harry also moved for his, although the Slytherin knew instinctively that he had no intention of attacking first. Draco didn’t particularly want to launch into another round. It was a wonderful experience to have such a blatant test of his abilities, and his heart was racing with the emotion coursing through him; but he didn’t necessarily want to direct his anger at Harry, for what reason, he couldn’t say.

As Draco wiped his wand off on his robe, Ron Weasley shouted spitefully, "You’ll never be a match for Harry, Malfoy!"

Draco whirled. Harry, in the middle of retrieving his shirt, whirled too, but Draco had already pointed his wand and said softly, his voice ice, "Arachnis."

He’d muttered the first thing he could think of, intending to send a string of spiders dancing at Weasley. What happened instead made the entire crowd draw back, except for Weasley, who literally froze on the spot with terror, and Granger, who gulped and stayed by his side. The largest tarantula Malfoy had ever seen had emerged from the end of his wand, now quivering almost dangerously in his hands. Large—it was a small giant, three feet wide at least, not counting its hideous legs. It landed heavily on the ground with a soft ‘whomp,’ and then righted itself, huge furry legs writhing, evidently pissed as hell.

It went straight for Ron.

In an instant Harry was next to Malfoy, who was staring openmouthed in astonishment at the thing he’d produced. "Reducio," Harry said intently, keeping his eyes trained on the arachnid. His spell simply bounced off the shell of the spider and only served to irritate it. It snapped out in response, and Ron’s mouth dropped open in a silent expression of horror so vivid it hurt Draco to look at. Harry blinked and looked down at his wand. Draco couldn’t help doing the same thing, and at once he found Harry’s eyes meeting his, saying confusedly, ‘why didn’t this work?’

"Harry, I’ve got it," Hermione said, her voice trembling, and making a concerted effort to steady herself, she moved slightly in front of Ron and performed a vanishing spell. It had no affect. She glared at Malfoy, seething with anger and indignation. "Malfoy, you dirty little—this is Dark magic!"

"It isn’t!"

shouted Malfoy loudly.

"I don’t think it’s his fault," Harry muttered right beside him.

The spider was now only a foot or so away from Ron; Hermione had stepped back and tried to pull Ron back with her, but Ron only let out a whimper and clutched her so tightly she gasped from the pain. Draco sized up the situation, and raised his wand, still vibrating tightly in his hand.

"No!" cried Hermione, pinning her eyes shut.

"Finite Incantatem!"

With a crack, the spider disappeared.

Ron looked as though he were ready to faint with relief. Hermione instantly rounded on Malfoy and gave him a look that was sure to be followed by another infamous slap like the one she’d given him as a third-year, but Harry was there before her, restraining her gently, his eyes looking back at Malfoy with a hint of a question in them. He knows I didn’t mean to produce that, Malfoy thought, and then he wondered why Harry would care one way or the other.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy."

The voice was the last Draco would have expected. Dumbledore was standing a ways away from them, and from the look of things had been apparently observing them both for some length of time. He stood, hands in his robes, gazing at them quizzically, his eyes lingering on Malfoy much longer than Draco was used to.

"It was Malfoy’s fault, sir, he shot a huge tarantula at Ron—he could have been killed," gasped Hermione, still livid with anger. Harry, however, stayed quiet, his eyes clouded over in thoughtfulness.

"I did see the giant arachnid of which you spoke, Hermione," said Dumbledore gently, with a kind smile at Granger and the still trembling Weasley. Damn. He must really be petrified of spiders, thought Malfoy, watching the headmaster shrewdly. Dumbledore bent close to him and asked, in a voice low enough for only he, Draco, and Harry to hear, "I must ask, Draco—" Draco couldn’t help but notice Harry flinch as Dumbledore referred to him by his first name, a distinction Draco knew he used on rare occasions, except for his prize favorite, Harry himself—"has your wand been acting properly these days?"

Draco nodded. It hadn’t done anything extraordinary at all, other than a little vibrating—well, unless you counted producing a giant spider ten times the size of the one intended… "It’s seemed to be doing fine so far, sir," he said expressionlessly.

Dumbledore assessed this with a nod. "It is a fine wand, indeed," he said, with a tone that implied he could have said much more. Draco tried not to roll his eyes. After all, he could easily have gotten detention plus more if Dumbledore so chose. The headmaster, however, had already turned to Ron. "You are sufficiently recovered, I hope, Mr. Weasley, to join us all for dinner?" Ron nodded, not deigning to hide his amazement that Dumbledore had issued no punishment for Malfoy. "Excellent. I’m told there is to be an abundance of snow cones this evening. I must say I’m rather excited."

And placing one arm upon Hermione’s shoulder and the other on Ron’s, he walked blithely with them back up to the dining hall. Draco and Harry stood looking after him in puzzlement. The other students followed, some looking back to throw a "good show!" at the two duelists. After a moment Harry gave a last, searching look at Draco and ran ahead to join Ron and Hermione. The trio made their way up the snow-covered hill, leaving Malfoy alone with his wand wondering what the bloody hell had just happened.

~~~~~~~~

When he arrived at the dining hall, Draco purposely sat at the end of the Slytherin table nearest the Gryffindors, waiting to see what the trio might have to say about the fight.

He didn’t have to wait long. Weasley launched into a very rude, very loud tirade on just what all he’d like to do to that slimy, dirty, rotten son of a ferret-faced squib Malfoy, a tirade interrupted at times either by Granger chiding or chiming in, depending on how animated Ron allowed himself to be. Harry, however, seemed engrossed in his thoughts, so much so that finally Ron stopped and asked, "But Harry, what is it? You’re being awfully quiet. I’d think you’d be glad you nearly beat that dirty—"

"I’m fine, Ron," came the short reply.

You don’t sound fine, thought Malfoy curiously.

"Ron’s right, Harry, you do look worried about something.

Silence, and then: "Have you ever thought you knew someone, knew them inside-out—I mean, pretty much had them pegged, only to suddenly…"

"Suddenly realize you were wrong about them?" finished Granger.

"No! No, not wrong—"

Bastard, thought Malfoy, pleased all the same.

"But just that maybe things aren’t as simple as you first thought."

"Well—blimey, Harry"—Weasley sounded like he was talking through a mouthful of food—"You of all people should know that nothing’s ever that simple. Specially not around you. Black and white, good guy, bad guy—they don’t really pop up that easily."

Thoughtful silence, followed bitterly by, "Unless you’re talking about Malfoy, of course. There’s only one way to read him, and that’s evil."

A sharp clatter, as though someone had just dropped their silverware.

"Harry—you—you’re not talking about Ma—?"

"What?" hastily, from Harry.

"Nothing," Granger said quickly. "Just forget it, it’s ridiculous."

Another silence, this one dead.

Damn him, Malfoy thought through gritted teeth, does he hate me or does he hate me? He turned around, eyed the Gryffindor table, and called out, "Hey, Potter, got the snow off your robes yet?" Potter turned, his eyes intense.

"Actually, if I tried, I could probably still find some left to shove down your throat."

"Tell him, Harry."

Draco rolled his eyes. "What are you on about, Weasel? You’re only brave when someone else is sticking up for you, is that it? I didn’t see you and Mudblood rushing to help Potter out when I was kicking his arse."

Ron furiously sent sparks at Malfoy’s direction. They hit his plate and a stream of jello shot onto Draco’s robes. The Gryffindors laughed.

"Don’t call her that, you pureblood disgrace!" Ron seethed.

Harry added, his eyes narrow and steady on Draco’s, "—and don’t play with your food."

Instantly Malfoy retaliated, golden-gray eyes flashing as he sent a giant swab of jello hurtling towards Weasley’s temple.

"Oh, honestly, people, if you’re going to act like third-graders, then why don’t you just go sign up for Kwikspell lessons right now?" Hermione crossed her arms indignantly as Harry scooped up a pile of mashed potatoes and whizzed them over the several feet of distance between the tables. They ended by colliding with Goyle’s head as he turned to see what the ruckus was. Malfoy flicked a bunch of grapes systematically into her hair, some bouncing off of her nose and into her salad, and her rant ended mid-sentence. "Oh, that does it!" she seethed, and instantly whipping out her wand, she sent the plates of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, up, up, over their heads. They looked up in astonishment, but Malfoy was the only one with sense enough to jump back out of his seat when she whispered, "mobiliperverto!" and the plates flipped upside down, depositing large amounts of food all over their faces, hands, robes, and clothes.

Draco got away with only a splattering of corn juice that dribbled down the edge of his chin. As he licked his lips and spirited away the mess with the corner of his napkin he noticed Harry watching him. A smirk automatically swept over his features. Do you like what you see, Potter…?

"Who did this?" It was McGonagall. The smirk disappeared as instantly as it came. She looked with a long, suspicious glare from the Slytherins to the Gryffindors.

"Malfoy started it!" Ron said automatically. Malfoy rolled his eyes and sent all the disdain, loathing, and disgust in his soul over towards the whiny redhead.

"I highly doubt Malfoy would overturn his dinner over the heads of his own friends, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall snapped. There was a moment of silence as she turned her full attention to the Gryffindors. The Slytherins snickered. "Well?"

"I did it, Professor," Harry piped up calmly, Draco noticing the way he kicked Granger under the table. McGonagall wasn’t fooled—casting a raised eyebrow towards Hermione she asked, "are you sure, Mr. Potter?"

Harry met her gaze and responded without losing his look of calm control, "Yes, Professor."

McGonagall gave him a look that clearly said, ‘Very well, it’s your funeral,’ and turned back to Malfoy. "Mr. Malfoy, you will receive detention with Mr. Potter." After a weighty pause, she added, "I am also taking 50 points from each of your houses. Really, gentlemen—two duels in one day is getting a bit ridiculous."

As she walked away, Ron sulked, Hermione protested Harry’s bravery, and Harry sat back and eyed Draco sullenly. Draco did likewise, returning to his chair and kicking back, letting his body relax as he drank in the hostility pouring from Harry’s gaze. Harry had no idea how bloody good he looked when he was being serious. He had a righteous indignation that seeped from every inch of his body, even the inches Draco couldn’t see.

You’re checking out Harry Potter.

You’ve got to spend an hour of detention with that.

Holy fuck.