"You think this is a game, Pritchard?" Hugo's mind was rapidly searching for a curse or jinx which would a) sufficently hurt Pritchard to satisfy Hugo's wounded pride and b) not get him expelled. Surprisingly few spells fell into this middle category. Hugo's favourite, but as-yet unused, entrail-expelling curse, was out. He knew the girls behind him were squeamish and McGonagall would have his head.
Hugo found himself suddenly thinking from floor level as the tripping jinx hit him in the shins. His expression was outraged, but the low altitude seemed to help him think. He threw caution to the wind-- he'd get away with it, his last name was Weasley, after all ... and didn't the Potters and Weasley practically run the Wizarding world? A little voice in Hugo's head told him he was turning into a right prat, but unconcerned, Hugo trained his wand on Caleb again and sent a blasting curse in his direction. The curse was likely to cause, at the very least, bleeding and injury, perhaps worse.