"Raise your hand a little higher."
"The speaking pace should be steady — not too fast, not too slow. Of course, that's only for beginners like you. Once you're proficient, you can speed up."
"And relax, will you? You look like you're about to snap your wand in half."
The prank at the Quidditch pitch had been, of course, Pansy's idea. Malfoy had only gone along with it because of an earlier agreement — he'd promised to teach her some self-defense spells and a bit of real academic magic. He had mentioned it many times before, but Pansy always found some excuse to avoid studying. For a pampered young lady like her, that wasn't unusual; hard work was hardly her preferred activity.
"You can practice like this for now," Malfoy sighed. After all this time, he had only managed to teach her a simplified version of the Shield Charm. He couldn't help wondering whether he was simply a poor teacher — though, of course, he preferred to think the problem lay with Pansy's weak foundation. During last semester's exams, she had barely scraped by, relying entirely on his last-minute tutoring and the key points he'd highlighted for her.
They were practicing on a patch of grass not far from the Quidditch field. The soft blades brushed against their shoes, the scent of earth and summer faint in the breeze. Overhead, the sky stretched endlessly blue, interrupted only by a few wandering clouds.
Seeing that Pansy's practice was at least somewhat on track, Malfoy finally relaxed a little and turned his attention to his own spellwork.
"Expecto Patronum!" he called out clearly.
A thin stream of silvery mist burst from the tip of his wand, swirling and struggling to take shape — but in the end, it fizzled and faded into the air.
He exhaled softly, lowering his wand. The attempt had failed again.
The Patronus Charm had always eluded him. It wasn't that he lacked happy memories — he had plenty. The problem was his own stubbornness: he wanted to control the form his Patronus would take, to shape it deliberately. But that was nearly impossible.
He had read that a Patronus reflects the deepest, most unspoken parts of a person's soul — something beyond conscious control. To force it into a specific shape was like trying to change one's very nature.
"So… the power of love really is remarkable," Malfoy murmured to himself, thinking of Snape's doe — and then of Tonks' rabbit, which had turned into a wolf. The thought drew a faint, wry smile from him.
"I suppose I've been too idealistic," he admitted quietly. For once, the usually confident Malfoy felt a touch of helplessness. This was the first magical problem he had ever faced that seemed utterly beyond his control.
"Even if I'm willing to make sacrifices," he thought bitterly, "there's never even been an opportunity to make one."
With a resigned sigh, he lowered his wand completely. There was no point forcing it now. The contradiction between his will and the Patronus's form was what stopped him, not the lack of joy. He had plenty of things that made him happy — the knowledge he'd gathered, the books he'd devoured, the endless puzzle of learning itself.
And then, of course, there was her.
Malfoy glanced at Pansy. The memories he shared with her were enough to soften his expression. He thought of the times he had told her stories, and the ridiculous, imaginative answers she had given — sometimes so absurd they made him laugh despite himself.
"Your posture is wrong again," he called out suddenly, noticing that her wrist was bent awkwardly. "Straighten your arm!"
"I know!" Pansy shot him a glare, baring her teeth in mock irritation. Her impatience was almost endearing — almost.
"What a headache you are," Malfoy muttered under his breath, rubbing his forehead. Now he finally understood the weary sighs of the professors who had once tried to teach him.
"Think about it," he said, his tone turning serious. "Look at what we've actually learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts over the past two years. In first year, Quirrell turned out to be that man's servant, pretending to be incompetent just to hide it. And this year's teacher doesn't even need to pretend — he is incompetent. Tell me, if you ever run into real danger, do you plan to fend it off with those sloppy spells of yours?"
Pansy frowned. "Didn't you say Hogwarts is the safest place in the world?" she shot back, though her voice had lost some of its defiance. "Everyone says that old man — even if I don't like him — is the most powerful wizard alive. He can protect us, can't he?"
She looked up at him then, eyes bright and earnest. "Besides, there's you, isn't there?"
Malfoy paused, caught off guard by the softness in her tone. For a moment, he didn't know how to answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
"I can't be by your side all the time."
"Why not?" Pansy blurted, and then immediately realized what she'd said. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she lowered her gaze, pretending to focus on her wand.
Malfoy's own composure wavered briefly. He cleared his throat, forcing himself back into his usual tone. "Power only means something when it's yours," he said firmly. "If you don't learn to defend yourself, all the protection in the world won't matter."
He frowned slightly and added in a warning voice, "If you don't take this seriously, I might have to ask Flint to—"
He didn't need to finish the sentence. The mere mention of Flint was enough. Pansy straightened up instantly, her wand raised, expression suddenly very attentive.
Satisfied, Malfoy nodded. Sometimes a bit of threat was more effective than a lecture.
After a while, he decided to test how much progress she had made.
"Expelliarmus!" he shouted, flicking his wand sharply. A flash of red light shot toward her.
"Arma—" Pansy barely got half the incantation out before her wand flew from her hand and landed neatly in Malfoy's.
Malfoy frowned. That had been far too easy.
"Your spell was too fast!" Pansy protested immediately, crossing her arms. "I didn't even have time to react."
"Enemies won't slow down to give you time," Malfoy said sternly. But then, seeing her crestfallen expression, he softened his tone. "Still, the first time's understandable. Let's stop here for today."
Pansy exhaled in relief, her shoulders relaxing. There was no contest between a tedious study session and something exciting like Quidditch. She could spend hours flying laps around the pitch without complaint, but an hour of spell practice felt like pure torture.
Malfoy shook his head helplessly. "You really are hopeless," he muttered.
The sun was beginning to dip lower, painting the grass with warm gold. The gentle rustle of the leaves filled the silence between them.
Pansy was twirling her wand idly between her fingers, clearly no longer in a learning mood. Malfoy sat down on the grass with a sigh, stretching out his legs and staring at the sky.
It was hard not to feel frustrated.
He wasn't used to failure — not in teaching, not in magic, not in anything. But the Patronus Charm continued to defy him, and now even his attempt to train Pansy felt like a dead end. She had talent, perhaps, but absolutely no patience.
He plucked a blade of grass and rolled it absently between his fingers. "Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a teacher," he murmured.
Pansy looked over at him curiously. "You're doing fine," she said after a moment, though her tone carried more mischief than sincerity. "I mean, I still have all my fingers. That's a good sign, isn't it?"
Malfoy gave her a look that was half amused, half exasperated. "You'd have fewer if you keep waving that wand around like that."
She grinned. "See? You do care."
He turned away, pretending not to hear. "You should go over your notes from last time," he said instead.
"I would," she said, "if I hadn't accidentally lost them."
He raised an eyebrow. "Accidentally?"
Pansy smiled sweetly, the very picture of innocence.
Malfoy sighed again. "Hopeless," he repeated, though the word carried more warmth this time.
She leaned back on her elbows, gazing up at the sky. "I don't see why you're so serious all the time," she said softly. "It's not like the world's going to end if I don't master a Shield Charm today."
"You never know," Malfoy replied, only half-joking.
For a while, they were silent again. The faint hum of the wind and the distant cheers from the Quidditch pitch filled the space between them.
He glanced at her again. The sunlight caught in her dark hair, and for a fleeting second, she looked so peaceful that even he forgot his irritation.
It struck him, then, how strange it was — that the same person who drove him to exasperation could also bring him a kind of quiet calm.
Maybe that was why his Patronus refused to take shape. Maybe part of him was still trying to understand what it was he truly wanted to protect.
He didn't say any of that aloud, of course.
Instead, he simply stood, dusted off his robes, and said, "Come on. Let's go before you start complaining about hunger again."
Pansy scrambled up, brushing grass from her skirt. "You're the one who eats like a starving hippogriff," she teased.
Malfoy shot her a sharp look, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself.
As they walked back toward the castle, their shadows stretched long behind them, fading into the golden light of the afternoon.
It wasn't a perfect day — not for magic, not for progress — but somehow, it didn't feel wasted.
"Tomorrow," he said finally, "we'll practice again."
Pansy groaned dramatically. "Do we have to?"
"Yes."
"Fine," she muttered, but her voice held no real complaint.
Malfoy glanced sideways at her. "And this time," he said, smirking faintly, "you'd better be ready."
Pansy grinned back, her eyes bright with mischief. "We'll see."
Malfoy shook his head, amused despite himself.
"Frustrating," he murmured again — but this time, the word sounded almost fond.
End of Chapter 39 — Practice and Frustration
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