---
Chapter 39
"Raise your hand."
"Speak at a moderate speed—neither too fast nor too slow. That's only for beginners like you. Once you get used to it, you can speed up."
"Relax a little. Look at your wand—you're about to snap it."
What Pansy had said earlier on the Quidditch pitch—"I can do whatever you want tonight"—was, of course, only a prank. Their real agreement had always been simple: Malfoy would teach her some basic self-defense magic and help her make up the coursework she'd neglected. He had reminded her many times, but Pansy would always dodge the topic or come up with excuses. A spoiled girl who hated studying was nothing surprising.
"You can practice like this for now." Malfoy sighed. After all this time, he had only managed to teach Pansy a simplified version of the Shield Charm. He couldn't help wondering whether he simply wasn't suited to be a teacher—but he preferred to believe that Pansy's foundation was just too weak. Last semester, she had passed most of her exams only because he'd helped her.
They were standing on a patch of grass not far from the Quidditch stadium. The soft turf felt pleasant under their feet. Above them stretched a clear blue sky with only a few drifting clouds. Seeing that Pansy's practice was at least somewhat on track, Malfoy relaxed a little and turned his attention to his own training.
"Expecto Patronum!" he called.
A silvery mist burst from the tip of his wand, struggling to take shape before dissolving into the air.
Malfoy let out a quiet sigh. Half the reason his Patronus kept failing was that he was trying to control its form—an almost impossible task. According to the books he'd read, a Patronus represented the hidden, inevitable part of one's personality. Forcing its form was nearly equivalent to trying to reshape one's own nature.
"No wonder the power of love is so great," Malfoy thought, recalling Snape's doe and Tonks' rabbit turning into a wolf.
"Seems I've been too idealistic." He felt a rare swell of frustration. This was the first problem he'd encountered that felt truly unsolvable. "Even if I had the courage to sacrifice myself for someone… who would have thought there'd be no chance to prove it?" he thought bitterly.
He lowered his wand. "I'll try again another time."
It wasn't a lack of happy memories that stopped him—only the internal conflict about the Patronus's form. And really, for someone who loved knowledge, even thinking about the little discoveries he'd made over the years was enough to warm him.
And then there was her.
He glanced at Pansy. The memories he had with her—her ridiculous questions, the stories he'd told her, the small moments they'd shared—were enough to make him smile.
"You're in the wrong position again!" Malfoy called when he noticed her wrist tilting off-angle.
"Got it," Pansy snapped, baring her teeth in irritation.
"What a headache-inducing student," Malfoy muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead. At last, he understood the exasperated tone teachers often used.
"Look at our Defense Against the Dark Arts classes these past two years," he said. "Last year Quirrell was pretending to be weak, and ended up worse than a first-year. This year's professor doesn't even bother pretending—because he's an idiot. If you're ever really in danger, do you expect your flimsy spells to save you?"
"Hogwarts is the safest place in the world," Pansy protested, though her voice lacked its earlier confidence. "Even though I don't like that old man, people say he's the most powerful light wizard. He should be able to protect us." She blinked up at him innocently. "Besides… there's still you, right?"
"I can't always be by your side," Malfoy replied.
"Why not?" she asked—and then immediately realized how that sounded. Her face flushed as she lowered her head.
Malfoy felt awkward, but he pressed on. "Real strength is the strength you control yourself." His eyes narrowed slightly. "If you don't train, I'll have to hand this over to Flint."
The threat was obvious—and effective.
As expected, Pansy straightened instantly and began practicing with uncharacteristic seriousness.
After a while, Malfoy decided to test her progress.
"Expelliarmus!" he cast. A streak of red light shot from his wand.
"Prote—!"
Before she could even finish the incantation, her wand was already flying out of her hand and into Malfoy's.
He frowned, disappointed.
"Your spell was too fast… I couldn't react in time!" Pansy insisted, searching for excuses.
"The enemy won't slow down just because you can't react," Malfoy said sharply—but his tone softened. "It's your first attempt. That's enough for today."
Pansy let out a huge sigh of relief. To her, an entire morning of exhilarating Quidditch practice was enjoyable—but an hour of studying felt like torture.
"How frustrating…" Malfoy muttered under his breath.
---