Chapter 2
"We don't serve large hunks of meat here, Goyle," said George.
"That supposed to be funny, Weasel?" the fat man said. He pulled out his wand and shot an unknown, dangerous spell off into the air, causing everyone to wail and drop to the ground. "Hand over the filthy turncoat or that'll be the last laugh you have!"
Draco squealed like a girl and threw himself behind Ginny. "Get your filthy hands off of my legs, Malfoy!" shouted Ginny, kicking him out from behind her.
Goyle took the window of opportunity. "Sectumsempra!"
"Protego!" Draco called in his girly girly voice, saving his skin (but peeing his pants in fear). The curse rebounded and hit old maid Argus Filch in the back of the head, making him fly over the table and crash into his date, Mrs. Norris, causing loud hissing and glass breaking.
Filch, being magicless, pulled out a pistol. "Take this, bastard!" he called. Sadly, his eyesight was going and he shot out a large bottle of firewhiskey behind the bar. The explosion caused the shelf of alcohol to topple. George retaliated, shooting off a stinging hex in the direction of Goyle, but Ginny stepped in the way.
"OUCH! BAT BOGEY HEX!" waving her wand, both the boogers of Goyle and her brother grew large and flew around the saloon, attacking random people.
"Finite Incantatem!" yelled George. "Confringo!" The boogers fell uselessly to the ground as the roof above Goyle's head exploded and fell on top of him. The bar went still.
Just a minute too late for the fight, horses' hooves pounded down the dirt road on which the Weasley Wizard Whiskey saloon lay. Sheriff Potter and his trusty companions, the lawmen Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom, swaggered into the saloon.
"What in tarnation is going on here?" said Harry in his manliest voice he could muster. He mustered a little too hard, because the barmaid Ginny swooned.
"HE WANTS TO KILL ME!" wailed Malfoy.
Harry and the others looked down to their feet to see Goyle laying on the ground, bleeding slightly, and looking very disoriented, almost dead.
"Gregory Goyle! You've got balls of steel comin' into OUR town to murder OUR loyal citizens!"
Goyle laughed evilly. "I'm not the hit man, sheriff. I'm just the messenger. Tell that traitor over there that many more like me will be comin for him. The death eaters don't take kindly to desertion." With that, Goyle breathed his last.