P A R A M O U R || George Weasley

07 || ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES

It's as if everything is in slow motion. Everyone in the corridor gasps and gets out of Lyra's way when she whips out her wand. With a flick of her wrist and a simple 'expelliarmus,' she disarms him.

Fred Weasley isn't given time to react as everything happens in a heartbeat. One moment he has a girl whispering in his ear all the embarrassing things Malfoy did, and the next, his wand is flung across the room. No one dares to help him as they wait with bated breaths Lyra's Malfoy's next move.

No one is scared of what might happen; they are excited to witness an unplanned duel. Both people participating are great duellers, yet one is without his wand. 'It's not a fair fight, but that's how Slytherins play,' is what most think. Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs root for Fred Weasley and the Slytherins, and a handful of Ravenclaws cheer for Lyra Malfoy.

"Woah, Malfoy, what's wrong with you?" Fred exclaims, hand in front of him as if that could stop any incoming spell. He might be talented, but he is not well versed in wandless magic.

His words are not well chosen, making Lyra tick even more. Everything that could be wrong with Lyra is because of him, including the trauma he caused and is lodged deep inside her.

"Langlock!" She shouts, and a beam of yellow makes its way to the redhead.

Fred flinches, nothing seems to be wrong with him, but when he tries to gloat, he finds himself incapable of speaking. His tongue is seemingly stuck in the roof of his mouth.

"What's wrong with me? Me?!" Lyra shrieks, stepping closer to him with each word. "You're my problem, Weasley, and you're messing with the wrong person," she asserts, pointing her wand at him once more.

It's not like he can run. A crowd of students has surrounded them with the Slytherins in the front, preventing any other student from interfering. Fred is forced to face her head-on with no fear in his eyes. If she's anything like her brother, she'll just threaten him about complaining to daddy.

George was talking with Angelina, apologizing for earlier when a student yelled down the stairs that a fight was happening. George follows the crowd to witness the duel. He can't miss something like it. The closer he gets, though, the more he hears his brother's name. 'Fred Weasley is in a duel.' Worrying, he pushes through the crowd of people, wondering what trouble he got in now.

A Slytherin, Adrian Pucey, elbows him to stay back with a glare when he reaches the front. George ignores him and focuses on the fight ahead. Fred is unarmed and silent as Lyra rains down on him in a fury. She throws spells at him, forcing him to take steps back to prevent getting hit. Like the rest of the people around, he doesn't think he can intervene. This has been long coming between the rivaling students.

Lyra's face embodies all of her anger. Her skin is a vivid red, veins forming on her forehead, and her hand is paler than usual from gripping her wand so tightly. Her pretty doe eyes have narrowed considerably, too, her serene blue eyes resembling an ocean during a storm, and her pink lips, instead of having their usual smirk, are morphed into a sneer directed at Fred.

Anyone else would have pissed their pants, but Fred stood tall, not an ounce of fear on him. And that doesn't sit well with Lyra. She wants to see him show anything other than mockery. She's going to peg that arrogant moron down a few notches.

"Everte statum," Lyra shouts, and Fred is flung back to the stone wall.

Fred feels the air leaving his lungs and the pain in his back. He grimaces and tries to stand, but another spell pushes him down.

"This will show you not to mess with me," Lyra growls with one last spell on the tip of her tongue.

Like a thief in the night, Professor McGonagall makes herself present and stops Lyra with a flick of her wand. The Slytherin's wand slips out of her grip, the Transfigurations Professor confiscates it.