Especially Our Enemies

“If you will please quiet down, we can get started,” Malfoy said. He always sounded so damned confident. I felt like a big bundle of nerves, and I bounced lightly on the balls of my feet. We’d planned this all out, I knew, but it had been a very long time. The most complicated spell I’d cast in recent memory was a nappy-changing spell for Amelia.

“Dueling is a regulated, traditional form of wizarding combat,” Malfoy said, pacing up the dueling mat. “We’ve been studying the rules for some days now. Would someone like to tell us the three types of duels?”

A couple of students put their hands into the air, and Malfoy pointed at a Gryffindor with his wand. Soon enough that wand would be pointed at me. I shuddered despite myself.

“There’s dueling to disarmament, dueling to surrender or clear defeat, and dueling to death,” the Gryffindor said.

“Professor Weasley and I will not, of course, be fighting to the death,” Malfoy said, smirking. A few Slytherins echoed his chuckle.

“Every duelist has his or her own preferences about stance,” Malfoy explained. He pointed at me and I fell into the one I liked best. “A tall man with a lot of reach, like Professor Weasley, will want a stance that gives him the best use of his long limbs without making his body too vulnerable.”

He didn’t mention the fact that I tucked my arm in against my side, trying to keep it out of my way. I had asked him not to, but I knew the more astute kids in the class would notice.

Malfoy put himself into a different position, holding his wand at the ready.

“Since I’m shorter, I want something a little different. I’m also ambidextrous, so I use a lot of positions that allow me to switch hands if necessary.” He shifted his feet and tossed his wand into his left hand. I looked at mine, worthless except for blocking, and met his eye again.

“The most basic disarmament spell,” Malfoy said, setting his feet. I raised my wand.

“Expelliarmus,” I pronounced, clearly and loudly. My wand arm seemed to move itself, and I felt a moment of supreme confidence. I did remember how to do this. Malfoy allowed himself to be disarmed, but did not stumble back from the spell. I could respect that kind of power, especially since I would never possess it.

“And of course the summoning charm we all know,” he said, holding out a hand. “Accio wand.”

“It can be difficult to call your wand to you,” Malfoy told them. “You learn to do the summoning charm with your wand, so at first it will be a challenge to focus your energy without it. It takes hours of practice to become skilled with any kind of wandless magic.”

I was glad I didn’t have to do all this talking. I wouldn’t have been able to keep everything straight and remember the choreographed duel we had planned.

“Since this is a defense class, we’ll be demonstrating blocking spells.” He turned to me. Attack spells were definitely his forte, but I could block like the best of them. Probably the same instincts that made me a good Keeper.

“Expelliarmus,” he called. I raised my wand and moved it in a fairly complex pattern, one of the few blocks that didn’t require a spoken key.

“You’ll notice Professor Weasley didn’t have to say a spell,” Malfoy said. “There are two main kinds of blocks: spoken and unspoken. Spoken blocks can be further broken down into pure blocks and force blocks. Both will prevent you from being injured or disarmed, when used appropriately, but a force block will actually do damage to your opponent.”

I braced myself and gritted my teeth. This was particularly difficult for me, since it required both hands, and I wasn’t sure I could do it. Malfoy had reassured me a number of times.

“Oculis obligarit,” he cried. If I didn’t get this right, I’d be blind for at least ten minutes. I raised my wand.

“Incantatum tibi,” I said, gesturing weakly with my left hand and bringing my wand down carefully with the right.

Malfoy staggered a little, and I could still see, so I sighed. He could have blocked my reversal spell, but he absorbed it without even moving his wand.

“Finite incantatum,” he murmured, shaking his head. He blinked a few times.

“The Blindfold charm is very effective. Most wizards can’t just dispel one, and it lasts for a solid ten to twenty minutes. Reflected back with a reflective or force block, it is somewhat weaker.” He rubbed his eyes for a moment. “It does no permanent damage.”

We went on like that for the rest of the period. By the end of class, Malfoy and I had both taken a few spell nimbuses and I was feeling a bit worn. He waited until all the students had left the room and lay down on his back on the dueling platform.

“Christ,” he muttered.

“Come now, my old salt. It wasn’t that bad.” I sat down beside him.

“You’re lucky this was planned. In a real duel I would have killed you.”

“Thank you for that,” I said. “I didn’t really feel like dying today.”

“You seemed to on Friday,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

“That’s a bit different.”

“Well, just so you know, anytime you feel like dying just let me know. It’s my specialty.” He pushed himself to his feet.

“Malfoy?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Hmm?”

“How many people have you killed, anyway?”

His gaze went in for a moment, and he ticked off on his fingers a few times.

“Quite a few,” he said. “I’m not sure exactly.”

“That’s reassuring,” I told him, sliding off the edge of the platform onto my feet.

“I remember the first one,” he offered, picking up his robe from a nearby chair.

“Oh yeah?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

“It was your brother, Percy.” He looked at my shocked face. “You’ve got to start someplace.”

“You seem to be bad luck for my family,” I said.

“Bad luck always strikes in threes,” he warned.

“I hope you don’t think that’s funny,” I said.

“What?” He looked at me with what seemed to be genuine confusion. Had he really not meant it as a sick joke? That was perhaps more disturbing.

The school year has this amazing trick of going by faster and faster, and I found myself at Neville and Margaret’s little cottage almost the moment I stepped out of the classroom. This time I got a peck on the cheek, although Margaret had to stand up on her tiptoes to do it. It was hard not to laugh at her. Neville and I settled down in the living room while she got lunch ready.

“So how have you been?” Neville asks, laughing at himself.

“Am I supposed to say just fine, thanks?”

“Have you been?”

“Well, I got some kind of stomach flu last weekend and was sick for a couple of days, and my back’s been bothering me. But other than that, yeah, just fine.”

“That’s good.”

I looked at him expectantly. He fidgeted a moment.

“Well, Nev?” I asked, smiling. “Say something, mate.”

“I talked to Professor Sprout the other day.”

“And?”

“She said you and Draco Malfoy have been thick as thieves lately.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“I just wanted to get it straight from the horse’s mouth, before I jumped to any conclusions,” Neville said hesitantly.

“And I’m the horse?” I sat back in my chair. “Malfoy and I haven’t become friends or anything, Nev. But you and I both know that we can’t hold our grudges forever.”

“You know the things he’s done,” Neville said. I looked at him and I realized, perhaps for the first time, how serious his eyes were. “The people he’s hurt.”

“Neville?”

He shook his head.

“Like you said. We can’t hold grudges forever.” He cracked a smile that was so blatantly fake it almost hurt.

“Is there something you haven’t told me, mate?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” he lied. He turned away from me, and before I could pry any further Margaret’s voice came in from the kitchen.

“Soup’s on, boys!”

“I thought that was just a turn of phrase,” I said, as she ladled out something thick and delicious-smelling.

“You’ll love this,” Neville said, pecking his wife on the cheek. “I warned Mags here that she’ll have you following her around like a lost puppy if she’s not careful.”

“I like it when a man appreciates my cooking,” Margaret said defensively, poking him in the ribs.

“Look at me and tell me that I don’t,” he replied, patting his stomach. He’d been chubbier in school, I recalled, but I chuckled with him anyway.

“I don’t get many home-cooked meals these days,” I told her. She took her seat and Neville and I followed.

“I don’t remember the food at Hogwarts being too bad,” Neville said, picking up his spoon.

“Ah, but you’re forgetting the secret ingredient,” Margaret said, smiling.

“Love,” I said.

“Aye.”

“Don’t you go stealing my woman away, Ronald Weasley,” Neville chuckled.

“I wouldn’t worry myself, Neville,” I said.

We were quiet for a few minutes while I made yum noises and enjoyed what turned out to be an absolutely delicious stew. Margaret’s smile got broader than I’d imagined possible. The stuff was certainly fit to put weight on your bones. I hoped for the sake of Neville’s arteries she didn’t cook like that all the time.

“So, Ron,” Margaret said, once I’d all but licked my bowl clean, “Neville tells me your son started at school this year. How is that?”

“I don’t see as much of him as I thought I would,” I said. She hummed. They looked at each other for a moment and I felt a bit lost.

“What?” I asked.

“Margaret’s been trying to talk me into having a baby,” Neville said softly, staring at her.

I felt sudden awkwardness, like I had when Neville had made his veiled comments in the living room.

“Neville’s worried he’s too old to start a family,” she said.

“Isn’t that something you two should decide for yourselves?” I choked.

“I told you he’d be uncomfortable,” Neville said. He stood and took my bowl. Margaret leaned in.

“How many children do you have, Ron?” she asked.

“Three. Two girls and a boy.” I swallowed. Neville stayed in the kitchen, leaning against the island that separated it from the living room. I looked at him, feeling a little betrayed. He’d stuck me with her; he’d given up already, I realized.

“How lovely.”

Margaret was a good deal younger than we were, that age when the energy still seems boundless. She was leaning her chin on her hand and looking at me expectantly.

“What do you want me to tell you?” I asked. Neville finally came back in and set a drink at my elbow. I took a grateful sip. It was firewhiskey.

“I think she wants you to say how great it is, so I’ll be convinced,” he said, sitting down next to her. He put his hand on hers and another look passed between them. Hermione and I had exchanged those moments. It seemed so long ago.

“It is great,” I admitted. “I love my kids more than anything. But it’s a lot of work, you know.” I made an ambiguous gesture.

I spent the next few hours telling them all about the ups and downs of my child-rearing experience, and I was glad to see that it was almost four.

“Listen, I hate to cut this short,” I lied. “But I have a dinner engagement at four-fifteen, and I really should get moving.”

“A hot date?” Neville joked, as he walked me to the door.

“Right,” I said sarcastically. I took my jacket and waved goodbye to them.