Where there is a will there is a way Prodigal Solo

Practicing: Expelliarmus

Finnegan knew The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection like the back of his hand. By the time he'd gotten to Hogwarts he'd read it cover to cover three times over. While the writing was dull as a brick the spells, jinxes and counter-curses contained within the pages were invaluable to a small boy who had never been strong or tall.

One spell in particular had drawn his attention and he'd been dissapointed to learn it would not be taught until his second year unless, of course, he taught himself. Sacrifices would have to be made to find the proper time to learn, but he was willing to make them, warnings about the advanced nature of the spell be damned.

After class had finished and the droves of students had gone down to the great hall for supper, Finnegan entered back into the classroom, determined to figure out the disarming spell. For the purposes of practice he'd pocketed some sticks that had come falling out the back of his school broom during his last flying lesson. It was a poor substitute for a wand, but the best he'd been able to get his hands on. His earlier attempts at charms had taught him enough about miscasting that he'd foregone trying to convince anyone to be his target practice. He did not want to be responsible for sending someone to the Hospital Wing just yet.

Finnegan set the sticks aside and opened the spellbook to the proper page. He scanned the words that had seared themselves into his memory from a summer spent reading it over and over and over until he could recite the entire description backward.

Pulling a would-be wand from his collection of sticks, Finnegan stuck it on the reading stand at the front of the classroom and retreated a few paces. The incantation and wand movement were only part of the battle, actually hitting the stand would be quite another.

Finnegan closed his eyes and allowed his mind to quiet. He focused his thoughts on the wand he was holding and visualized the required wand-movement in his mind's eye.

"Expelliarmus!"

An invisible force rippled through the air, like someone had just opened a window and let a stiff gale blow through the classroom. The stick however, remained precisely were it was, firmly stuck where he had left it.

Another Gryffindor had seen him practicing his charms a few days ago and pointed out that he sometimes moved his wand too much. Small, accurate motions were better than exaggerated ones, or so he'd been told. At the time he'd been too stubborn to listen to the advice, but perhaps it was worth a shot.

Steadying himself, Finnegan prepared to try again. Small motions. Small and slow...

He brought his wand down in a slash and twirled it around in his wrist. "Expelliarmus!"

The practice stick launched into the air, bounced off the ceiling and clattered down onto the floor. It was almost a pity no one was around to see his success, he could've scored some points for Gryffindor Professor Lécuyer had been around.

Despite the rumbling of his stomach, he didn't stop there. One hit could've been sheer dumb luck. It was repeatability that counted, not chance. Feeling a little more confident he put down another one of the sticks and moved back a little further to make it harder to hit.

Expelliarmus, ex-PEL-lee-ar-muss... he kept saying to himself in his mind. It was easy to trip over the words and he'd learned that it was best not to rush the incantation.

"Expelliarmus!"

Bang! Clatter!

Again.

"Expelliarmus!"

This fourth stick almost hit him in the eye as it came hurling back toward him like a boomerang. The fifth only just broke loose from where he had stuck it, but from sixth on out he was starting to get the hang of it.

He lost count how many times he'd cast the spell by the time he'd backed all the way into the far wall of the classroom. Aside from a few misses every hit sent the target flying sky high, and he thought it was a rather satisfying sound to hear it clatter on the ground. It wasn't until he thought he heard footsteps approaching that he quickly gathered his things and snuck out of the classroom hungry, but more than a little pleased with himself.

WC: 730