Arthur Weasley sighed and fingered his prefect badge as he walked towards the huddle of second year students, their green and silver scarves pulled tight to combat the chill of the dungeons. The last thing he needed tonight were Slytherins out of bed after hours.

"Excuse me," he said with as much authority as he could muster, drawing himself to his full height, "but it is strictly forbidden to be wandering the corridors at this time of night."

The students at the immediate front of the group - who didn't look smart enough to even tell him their own names, let alone give him a plausible excuse - broke apart. According to Slytherin etiquette, the smartest individual was always in the centre of the pack; Arthur looked the boy up and down but couldn't seem to come up with a name to match his pale, pointed face.

"I don't see how it concerns you," the boy sneered, also examining Arthur from head to toe, and making it quite plain that he didn't like what he saw. "You clearly don't belong down here."

His troll-like companions sniggered amongst themselves, though Arthur didn't find the comment very amusing. Frankly, he was taken aback by such insolence from a younger student (even a Slytherin one).

"Well, really," he said, in what he hoped was a disapproving voice."Is that any way to speak to a prefect?"

"Certainly, if the prefect is you."

Arthur interrupted the outbreak of sniggering that followed the boy's retort. "That's enough," he said sharply. "I have a good mind to give you a detention!"

"Perhaps I could suggest taking me to see my Head of House," the boy said, smirking for some reason. "Surely such heinous crimes as mine deserve fitting punishment from a responsible adult."

Arthur was slightly unnerved by his smugness, and hated to admit that he had a point.

"I... Yes, I think I shall do that." He tried his best to look intimidating as he turned to the rest of the group. "You. Bed."

To his great surprise, they complied, still laughing at him as they lumbered out of sight. Shaking his head, Arthur escorted the still self-satisfied second year to Slughorn's office. His destination reached, he knocked smartly on the door. Slughorn opened it a crack.

"Ah," said Slughorn when he saw Arthur. "Come in, er..."

"It's Weasley," he said dully. He still couldn't believe that after five years of teaching him, Slughorn still didn't know his name.

Looking less than enthusiastic, Slughorn opened the door wide to allow Arthur to pass. His face lit up, however, when he saw the boy that Arthur had brought with him.

"Lucius Malfoy!" he boomed, practically flinging Arthur aside. "Good to see you m'boy, good to see you! Have a seat! And how is your father? I heard about his inspired business deal with the minister. Yes, it seems years since the two of us spoke..."

Arthur cleared his throat loudly for the second time. Glancing at him contemptuously, Malfoy cut delicately into Slughorn's speech.

"Ah, yes, you see, sir, there's a slight problem."

Slughorn's gaze drifted automatically to Arthur. "A problem?"

Arthur, who had not been offered a seat, walked over to Slughorn's desk.

"I'm afraid, sir, that Mr Malfoy was out of bed far too late just now," Arthur began. "When I, as a prefect, asked him to return to his dormitory, he started to speak to me in such an insulting manner that I had no choice but to bring him to see you."

Slughorn glanced at Malfoy, the perfect picture of innocence.

"I'm sure there's been some mistake, sir," Malfoy said. "The way Weasley tells it is not at all the way I remember it, sir. In fact, I hate to say it sir - " he demonstrated his point by adopting a slightly pained expression, " - but I believe I have done no wrong. Perhaps Weasley is... Framing me, sir."

Slughorn waved a pudgy finger at Arthur, as though he were scolding a very small child. "Now, now, er, Wenderly," he said sternly. "Being a prefect means shouldering a lot of responsibility. If I hear of you abusing your power again, I may have to review whether or not you are ready for such responsibility."

Arthur was seething. Malfoy continued to smirk at him from behind Slughorn's back.

"Perhaps I was... Mistaken about Malfoy, sir," he replied in a surprisingly level tone, though his blood was boiling under the surface. "It won't happen again."

Slughorn nodded, unconcerned, and returned to singing Malfoy's father's praises as though he had never been interrupted. Arthur continued to hover by the door in a suggestive way.

"Sir, it's getting late," he nearly shouted to get Slughorn's attention. Slughorn checked the time on what looked like a solid gold pocket watch.

"So it is," he said, more to Malfoy than to Arthur. "You'd better be getting off to bed, m'boy."

"Of course, sir," said Malfoy in a sickeningly sycophantic tone. "I'll be sure to send father your regards. Good night, sir."

"Good night, Lucius," said Slughorn heartily, escorting Malfoy out of the door. "Oh," he added as an afterthought. "And, good night, er, Wallenby."

The door swung shut behind the pair of them. Malfoy turned to Arthur.

"Good night, Wallenby," he said, mockingly. "Maybe if you could afford some decent robes, Slughorn would bother to learn your name."

Arthur looked down at his patched and fraying second-hand school robes. Malfoy laughed derisively at him before turning and strolling down the corridor as if he had all the time in the world. As he turned the corner, he shot one final infuriating smirk at Arthur, who felt a rare wave of anger wash over him, invading his usually calm and friendly thoughts.

His ears turned bright red, and a hatred was born.