Author's Note: I have developed a bit of a block with the Midnight Mix-Up story and have run out of Skittles, so I'm writing a different story now. Makes no sense, yes? I'll just say I'm taking a bit of a break from MMU. Haha. Mmmoooo . . . Rhymes with? Loo . . . Stew . . . Reviewwww . . . What subliminal messages?

Disclaimer: All but the exact plot and anything unfamiliar belong to JKR. sigh If only. The plot was loosely inspired by some chapters in "Roughing It" by Mark Twain. I didn't actually read the book, just chapters 32-33 in a collection of funny camping stories. So, here you go, my friends.

(In the Charms corridor)

"Hey, Weasley," said a mocking voice in Ginny's ear, making her jump. "I heard you got accidentally transfigured into a toad. Did you get it fixed, or do you just always look like that?"

Ginny felt her jaw muscles tighten involuntarily. "No, sorry, Malfoy, the rumors you hear are incorrect. It was YOU who was transfigured into a ferret two years ago, and sadly, you haven't changed since." She swallowed and concentrated on walking down the corridor to Charms, looking straight ahead of her. She was painfully aware of how lame she sounded but hopefully her forceful delivery would make her point for her.

Malfoy's lips curled into a sneer. "Hmm, someone's been practicing comebacks in the mirror. Or perhaps Scarhead's been giving you lessons."

Ginny nervously fingered a button on her robes and walked more quickly, trying to lose Malfoy. "Harry needs to give me lessons in comebacks just as much as you need to give him lessons in Quidditch." Did that even make sense?

"Oh, good, nasty comebacks come naturally for you, too? Just like helping the basilisk petrify other students, hmm? Or worshipping Potter?" Malfoy snorted in contempt, then wondered: Did that even make sense?

Ginny slipped her hand into her robes' pocket and muttered something unintelligible, then turned to see a very surprised Malfoy slip and fall face-first on the marble floors. "Oh, sorry, Malfoy, do you need a hand?"

Malfoy shot her a look of deepest loathing as he hoisted himself to his feet and ignored the snickering of his fellow sixth years. "I don't need a hand, I can slap you with my own, thanks." And with that he slapped Ginny across the cheek.

She stumbled sideways into a passing third year and shrieked, both hands flying to her stinging face. "Malfoy! You-" She called him all the names she'd ever heard Charley call Bill in her youth, while Malfoy stood there and smiled.

The corridor had fallen quiet at the sound of Malfoy's hand on Ginny's freckled flesh, and now nobody moved as they listened to exactly what Ginny thought of Malfoy. Giggles and whispers began to erupt all down the hall, until tiny Professor Flitwick emerged from his classroom to see who was yelling.

"I beg your pardon?" he gasped, astonished, as he listened to Ginny scream obscenities.

She blinked and took her hand from her cheek, suddenly realizing everyone had been listening to her for the past twenty or so seconds (which allowed a lot of nasty name-calling to occur). She cleared her throat and hid her freckles behind a bright pink flush. "Sorry, Professor, Malfoy was harassing me. He slapped me."

Flitwick's curly, white eyebrows shot up and he turned toward Malfoy. "Is this true, Mr. Malfoy?"

Malfoy ran a hand through his blonde hair and sighed. "It's only as true as all those insulting names Weasley called me." Malfoy loved to test the teachers - to find the limit on their patience and see how well they handled his mocking tones. How far could he go?

"Definitely true, then," Flitwick said without hesitation, frowning. "Come into my classroom, you two. Everyone else - what are you staring at? Scurry off to your classes, boys and girls. What did Miss Weasley do to earn this slap, Mr. Malfoy?"

"She cursed me, Professor. Sent a tripping curse my way. Injured my Seeking arm."

The crowd showed signs of life and began to move, making little whispering sounds. It was rather like watching a sleeping monster awaken.

Ginny took a deep, shaky breath and walked into the Charms classroom behind Malfoy, imagining all the pointy objects she could conceivably stab into his back. She was going down the list - "thumbnails, scissors, stiletto heels" - when Flitwick asked the other students in the classroom to leave them for a bit. He sat down in his custom-made, small armchair while Ginny and Malfoy stood in front of his desk, as far apart as possible.

"I think both of you deserve adequate punishment," he squeaked. "In the form of detention. You will both serve your detention next Thursday evening on the Quidditch pitch. You will be reminded via owl next Wednesday so neither of you can conveniently forget."

If Ginny were a cat, her claws would have shot out of her paws and all the fur on her back would have arched up higher than her head. She seethed in anger.

"But - Professor - Malfoy's the one who slapped me, I just called him names and tripped him! Shouldn't he get a harsher punishment?" she pleaded. Malfoy rolled his eyes and leaned back against a desk casually.

"Well, Miss Weasley," said Flitwick, smiling mischievously, "serving detention with three Gryffindors is more of a punishment for Mr. Malfoy than it is for you, isn't it?"

Little creases appeared in Malfoy's porcelain forehead. "Three, Professor?"

"Three," Flitwick confirmed. "Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley had a bit of a, ah, skirmish in the corridors today. It must be the stress of mid-term exams upon us. Or perhaps the unusually cold weather. Whatever the case, it's time for class now, so take a seat, Miss Weasley. Off you trot, Mr. Malfoy." He waved Malfoy through the mahogany doors and welcomed the rest of the Charms class in.

"We will be practicing silencing charms today," Flitwick announced as Ginny sank into her seat, still angry.

Stupid Malfoy, slapping me like that. So immature. So - so mean! Slapping girls in the corridors . . . And now we get the exact same detention . . . I wonder what Ron and Hermione did?

(Rewind two hours, switch to hallway outside the Potions classroom)

"Ron," said Hermione in her I'm-going-to-start-a-lecture voice, "you shouldn't have teased poor Neville like that. Honestly, he's already got a lot on his plate!" She lowered her voice so only Ron and Harry could hear. "What with his parents' murderer and all. Besides, he's in the Order, too!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Just because someone's in the Order doesn't mean they're not a git. Look at Snape, for example. He-"

Hermione clapped her hand over his mouth and Harry hissed at him to shut up: "D'you want to get us killed? Remember the spies, Ron?"

Ron removed Hermione's hand from his mouth, ignoring the sweet taste of her lotion she left behind on his lips. "Guys, seriously," he said in a lower tone, "stop being so freaking paranoid. You honestly think there are spies here?"

His new word was "freaking" or "freakin'" - he'd picked it up from Bill over the summer. It was now winter, and his friends were getting annoyed with him.

Harry's eyebrows descended and he flashed Ron a dark look as they emerged from the dungeons. "Ron. You can't be too careful. Just watch your big mouth, all right?"

He was peeved because of his friend again. Everyone had been annoying him no end, but he still hadn't told anyone why he felt so stressed. They didn't know he was definitely a marked man. They didn't know he had to commit murder or else be murdered. Nobody understood . . .

"Harry," began Hermione sweetly, gently placing a hand on his elbow, "it's all right. He knows, right, Ron?"

"I'll be the judge of whether I freakin' know or not," said Ron gruffly, folding his arms across his chest in a surly manner and pausing mid-step. "Would you quit speaking for me?"

Hermione turned to Ron, eyes ablaze. "Ron! This is not the time for a self- rights discussion!"

"Oh, but it's always the time for ELF-rights discussions with you!" growled Ron, deliberately touching Hermione's one exposed nerve. He hadn't spoken about S.P.E.W. in a couple weeks, having been the victim of a mild fingernail attack from Hermione last time.

She let go of Harry quickly and whirled around to face Ron, glaring up at him. "When will you ever learn to shut up and respect other people?"

"The minute you give up on spew!" Ron spat out, his voice nearly reaching yelling point. Suddenly it was about more than S.P.E.W.

"Then I guess you mean never!" Hermione bellowed. "Because the minute I give up on S.P.E.W. is the minute you stop moping about being Harry's stupid sidekick!"

Harry had been quietly watching up until this point, but he knew he'd have to interfere as soon as his name was mentioned. He was a bit surprised to hear Hermione scream out Ron's insecurities to the entire school, and even more surprised to hear exactly what Ron's insecurities were. He should've guessed that Ron hadn't really gotten over his jealous spat in fourth year.

"Ron! Hermione! Would you quit fighting?" he said through his teeth, his voice strained. "Everyone is listening - let's go to the common room-"

"Harry, stay out of this," ordered Ron, whose face was shining bright and red. He shifted his furious gaze back to Hermione. "Look, little miss know-it-all, I've been trying to tolerate your stupid spew but I can't take it anymore! Would you for once in your life get your freakin' buck teeth out of your freakin' books and be normal for once!"

"Like I could be normal with twits like you hanging around me!" Hermione screamed, choosing to ignore the crowd of fifty, which had paused to hear the argument. "Every bloody hour of every bloody day! 'Hermione, can you do my homework for me? Hermione, could you write down all my problems for me? Number one: I'm poor as dirt but too proud to admit it! Number two-' "

Ron interrupted. "Number two: Hermione's such a freaking bossy show-off, I'm afraid I'll lose all control and strangle her! I-"

"What," said a very scary voice from behind Ron, "is going on here?"

"Just an argument between friends, sir," said Hermione immediately, remembering where she was and dropping her voice to a normal tone. "Nothing serious, Professor."

"Oh, but it is serious," said Professor Snape, smiling grimly. "Interhouse relations are bad enough, but when two students of the same house are yelling at each other . . . I think Dumbledore would be behind me on this decision."

"What decision?" snapped Ron.

"You'll want to be more polite, Weasley. That's twenty points from Gryffindor."

"What decision do you mean, Professor Snape?" said Ron through clenched teeth.

"That's more like it," said Snape, sneering. "You and Miss Granger have detention next Thursday evening. You will be notified next Wednesday. Good day." He swept out of the hall, black robes billowing threateningly behind him.

Harry stepped out from behind the pillar, where he'd hidden as soon as he saw Snape. "Bad luck, you two," he said, trying to mask his grin. He found it amusing that they'd gotten detention from Snape and he hadn't – it had to be some sort of record for the trio.

Ron scowled. "Oh, shut up." He gave Hermione a miffed sort of look, then veered off down the hallway to the Divination tower. Harry said good-bye to Hermione apologetically, then followed Ron.

(Fast-forward: Next Wednesday morning. Skip to Great Hall.)

"Ginny, you okay?" asked Harry as he watched her butter her toast (she'd been buttering it for the past fifteen minutes).

"Huh? Oh, nothing, I have detention tonight. You know, with Ron and Hermione," replied Ginny, taking a bite of her toast and gagging on the amount of butter she'd absentmindedly spread on it.

"You do? I didn't know that," said Harry interestedly, shooting Ron and Hermione a dirty look. They'd been giving each other the cold shoulder all week long and he was sick of it. "I wonder what you'll be doing."

"We're getting an owl about it," Ginny informed him. "And we have detention with Malfoy, too."

"What!" cried Ron, attracting several glances. "How?"

Ginny bit her lip and shut her eyes, counting to three slowly before opening them. "We had a bit of a . . . disagreement last Friday in the Charms corridor. I didn't want to tell you since you were all caught up with - er - homework and Quidditch."

She had almost said "the Hermione thing" but figured it wasn't the best thing to say. Shoot, I hope I don't have to tell him Malfoy slapped me . . . It's embarrassing enough last Friday in that hallway, but if Ron finds out . . .

Ron set his bagel down slowly, pausing mid-bite. "What. Happened."

"It's nothing," said Ginny quickly. "Really, just the usual stuff, and Flitwick gave us both detention. Something on the Quidditch pitch. I hope we're not trimming it with nose-hair clippers or anything, ha, ha." Don't ask me about the argument. Don't ask me about the argument.

"What did he say, Ginny," said Ron, swallowing a giant bite of bagel. "Tell me this instant. Did he hurt you? Did he make fun of you? I swear, I'm gonna-"

"Snog me senseless?" came an amused voice behind Ron. Ron twisted around, sending his leftover bagel flying into Neville.

"No," said Ron defiantly, too flustered to think of a proper comeback. "What do you want, Ferret-face?"

"Would you like me to make you a list? Number one-"

Ron blushed, knowing Malfoy was referring to his and Hermione's argument the past Friday. "Shut up. Why are you at our freakin' table?"

"Merely to deliver the letter about our freakin' detention, Weasel," Malfoy replied smoothly, drawing the letter from inside his robes and tossing it contemptuously at Ron, who fumbled and dropped it in his lap. Malfoy snorted and glided away to join Crabbe and Goyle, laughing.

"Git," muttered Harry for Ron's benefit, knowing his friend was supremely embarrassed. "What's it say, Ron?"

Ron sighed. " 'Mr. Malfoy, Mr. R. Weasley, Miss Granger, and Miss Weasley: Your detention will be served tomorrow night on the Quidditch field at nine o'clock. You will be cleaning and polishing the goal posts, Quidditch balls, and the school brooms. It is recommended that you wear your winter robes. Signed, Professor McGonagall.' Crap."

"Professor McGonagall signed it 'crap'?" asked Neville, confused. No one bothered to answer him.

Hermione raised her eyebrow and delicately poured herself a glass of milk. Ron narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm not the one who deserves this."

Hermione set the milk pitcher down with a loud thunk, glared hard at Ron, then stalked off to the common room. Harry sighed and turned to face Ron. "Can't you just be nice?"

Ron stared at the full glass of milk Hermione had left behind. "No. You heard what she said last week." He cast Harry a sideways glance, then buried himself in bagels and cream cheese again.

Ginny and the surrounding Gryffindors watched this interaction in silence. She wondered what Hermione had said about Ron that was so bad.

She and Ron had, in the past three years (she was a fifth-year now), grown apart. She no longer told him all her secrets, and he still treated her like a second year. Perhaps she had betrayed his trust when she was in second year with the whole Tom Riddle thing . . .

But none of her other brothers had ignored her so much, and then become overprotective when other males came into the picture. Sigh. Brothers.

"So, anyway, Ginny," said Ron, turning back to Ginny, his mouth thankfully clear of bagel. "Tell me exactly why Malfoy is in detention with us."

Harry, who had heard a detailed account of the incident, gave Ginny a look. "Ginny, he has a right to know."

"And I've got a right to keep silent," answered Ginny calmly, wondering why she was - essentially - protecting Malfoy.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to Ron. "He slapped her."

This produced several reactions.

Ginny: "Harry! Aurgh! I told you not to-"

Neville: "Who slapped who? What?"

Harry: "See, Gin, I told you he'd want to know."

Ron: "HE WHAT!!! F--- HIM!! That freakin' - AAUURGH!" (Storms out of Great Hall.)

Malfoy: (Emerging from hiding place behind Ravenclaw table) "Well, that went well, didn't it?"

A/N: So the first chapter is basically everyone yelling at each other. It gets better, trust me.

It would be nice of you could tell me what you think. Also any suggestions are quite welcome.