This chapter includes Ron being an idiot, Harry actually learning some shit, and Ron and the rest of the Gryffindors being prejudiced little fucks.

Chapter Four: Magic and Arguments

When Harry woke on Friday morning and flung open the curtains surrounding his bed, Draco sat on the edge of his own bed, arms crossed and staring at Harry. He was fully dressed, and entirely expressionless. Harry nodded to the Malfoy in greeting, and mentally sighed when he saw that Blaise was in the dorm. Blaise caught Harry's eyes and smirked. Blaise straightened his tie, then, and exited the dorm, leaving Draco and Harry in the room alone.

Harry stood, and changed out of his pajamas and into his robes. He loosely ties his green-and-silver-striped tie, not bothering to tighten it. He looked to Draco for instructions, something he never thought that he would do. Draco smirked at him; Harry rolled his eyes in response.

Draco stood from his bed and led Harry out of the dormitory and common room, despite the fact that Harry knew the way. Harry ignored this, though, and followed his fellow Slytherin. Draco led him up the stairs, out of the dungeons, and into the Great Hall. Harry couldn't help but glance over at the Gryffindor table as he sat at the Slytherin table and took a piece of toast off of a platter. Ron was engaged in a conversation with Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnigan, and didn't look at Harry or Draco or the other Slytherins even once. It was as if the Slytherin table didn't even exist, the way Ron was acting.

"Potter's staring at you," Harry heard Seamus say, glancing at the Slytherin table.

Ron turned his head to look over his shoulder at Harry, and shot him a sneer that was worthy of Snape or Draco. "Plotting our demise, Potter?" he spat.

Harry smiled thinly but didn't answer.

"Why don't you slither back into your hole, Potter, like a good, boy?" Ron sneered bitterly.

"Oh, look," said Draco, smirking, "the red-and-gold Weasel must have forgotten how to respect his superiors."

Harry rolled his eyes discreetly.

"Oh, I hope you're not talking about yourself, Malfoy, you and your merry band of Death Eaters."

Draco drew his wand. "Oh, I see he has forgotten. Would you like to duel, Weasel?"

Harry reached over and lowered Draco's wrist, so that his wand wasn't pointing at Ron's face.

"Going to curse me yourself, Potter?" Ron said bitterly, before turning back to his breakfast.

Harry finished his toast, and stood from the table. Draco followed suit, placing his wand back into the pocket of his robes. Harry followed Draco out of the Great Hall and up several flights of stairs. Harry recognized the portraits; he and Draco were on the seventh floor. He raised an eyebrow at Draco; there was no place that he could think of, located on the seventh floor, in which he and Draco could practice magic. He knew that the entrance to the Gryffindor common room was up on the seventh floor, having overheard a group of fourth year Gryffindors but he highly doubted that Draco was leading him up to Gryffindor tower.

Draco turned and led Harry down an unfamiliar corridor, the end of which facing a large, plain wall.

Harry turned his head to frown at Draco. "Where are we?" he asked. "I don't see a door anywhere."

His attention was refocused to the wall as Draco paced in front of it three times. When he was finished, a portion of the wall transformed into a large door. Harry watched in wonder.

"Welcome to the Room of Requirement, Harry," said Draco, gesturing and pushing open the door.

Harry stepped into the Room, looking around at the bookshelves and desks and magical training areas. "How did you get in here?" he asked, looking over at Draco, who was smirking proudly."You find the correct wall, pace in front of it three times, and think of what kind of room you want or need—also three times. In this case, I needed a place to learn and teach and practice magic."

Harry looked away and grinned at the room. "Wow."

Draco took a folded sheet of parchment from the pocket of his robes, as well as his wand. Harry drew his own wand. Draco was holding the parchment out to Harry, so he took it, and unfolded it. It was a list of simple spells. Spells to teach Harry, the title read. Harry skimmed the list.

Wingardium Leviosa

Accio

Protego

Finite Incantatem

Incendio

Lumos

Nox

Reducto

Reparo

Colloportus

Alohamora

Fumo

Specularis

Expelliarmus

Flipendo (all three iterations)

Harry looked up from the list to gaze at Draco. "You plan to teach me all of these spells today?"

Draco rolled his eyes, smirking slightly. "Not only today, of course," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Harry felt relief wash through him. He had studied magical theory in the past few weeks, and it was said that understanding the theory of magic was meant to make it easier to learn practical magic, but, despite that, Harry still didn't think that he could learn seventeen spells in one day.

Draco pulled another sheet of parchment from his robe pocket, to show Harry. "These are spells that I wish to learn, and then teach you," Draco stated, before returning the second sheet of parchment to his robe pocket, and taking the first from Harry. He placed it on a table, and pointed his wand at the nearest pillow. "Wingardium Leviosa," Draco intoned, and Hary watched as the pillow levitated, and floated a few feet above the wooden floor.

Harry mirrored Draco, pointing his wand at another, identical pillow, and repeated the incantation. "Wingardium Leviosa."

Nothing.

Harry sighed, and tried again. He recited the incantation of the Levitation Charm more firmly this time, throwing as much of his will as he could forward. "Wingardium Leviosa," he said firmly, his eye contact with the pillow unwavering. That was necessary, Harry had read in The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One, when one was first learning a spell, or when they didn't have as much experience casting the spell. More advanced wizards and witches could cast spells without eye contact, but they had to be skilled at said spells. The pillow floated a foot or two off of the ground, Harry's will having forced it to. Harry refrained from grinning, or dropping his focus. He continued to stare at the pillow, wand still pointed, until he saw Draco nod. That was how he mastered spells, then. He had to be firm about it, and had to have control over his will and his magic, in order for the spell to work, at least in the beginning. He hoped that, one day, he would be skilled enough, powerful enough, to cast spells without much thought.

"How did you learn all of these spells before Hogwarts?" Harry asked Draco, frowning slightly.

"I'm a properly trained Malfoy," Draco said simply, as if that explained everything. "All properly trained Malfoys learn spells like these. And wards prevent the Ministry from becoming aware of it."

Draco, seeming to know that, whichever spell he cast next, Harry would also cast it, kept his wand pointed at his own pillow. Instead of the Levitation Charm, however, he snapped, "Accio." The pillow zoomed over to Draco, and Draco caught it, and glanced at Harry.

Harry dropped the Levitation Charm, and repeated the incantation, his voice and will and magic still firm. "Accio!" The spell still didn't work on Harry's first try, but he tried again. The pillow zoomed straight at Harry's face, and Harry put his left hand up to catch it before it hit him.

"Good, job, Harry," praised Draco, giving his first bit of verbal feedback, and then dropped his pillow onto the floor. "Protego."

A translucent, circular shield erupted from the tip of Draco's wand, hovering in front of him, large enough to block his entire body.

Harry mirrored the Malfoy, his own shield weak-looking, small, and, altogether, not very strong. But it was progress, and he tried again several more times, until the shield was a bit more powerful.

Draco surprised him by snapping, "Finite Incantatem!"

Harry nodded to himself, a small nod, so that Draco wouldn't see—though Draco did seem to see, because he looked over at Harry and smirked—and recited the incantation. "Finite Incantatem," he echoed, throwing his will forward, and the shield seemed to dissolve.

When he had successfully cast Incendio, Harry had another chance to practice Finite Incantatem. Lumos and Nox were easy, and Harry knew that they were first year-level spells, because he remembered reading about them in The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One a few days ago in the library. He learned Fumo and Specularis back-to-back, Fumo filling the Room of Requirement with smoke, and Specularismaking a small window of vision and air appear in front of Harry's face. Reducto and Reparo were also learned back-to-back, as well as Colloportus and Alohamora, which Harry practiced on a locked chest in the corner of the Room. He then learned Expelliarmus and all three versions of Flipendo by casting them on Draco, who seemed to almost enjoy it.

"Good job, Harry," said Draco, pushing himself off of the ground so he could stand and offer his hand to Harry; Harry shook it, smiling slightly.

"Thanks, Draco," he said. "I'lll be sure to practice."

Draco nodded firmly and exited the Room. Harry moved to one of the bookshelves and sat down at a desk to read a book on dueling magic—both offensive and defensive. When he had reached the end of the book, He returned it to its place on the bookshelf.

"Point Me Ron Weasley," he intoned. He had learned the spell in the first week of classes, when he had gotten lost on the way to Charms and needed to find the other first year Slytherins. He had resolved, that day, to learn the spell, having read about it in the library. He followed the tip of his wand, now, as it spun in the palm of his hand. It led him to another point on the seventh floor: a painting of a large woman wearing a pink dress.

"Hello," he greeted, and she echoed him. If she noticed the Slytherin crest on Harry's robes, and the colors of his tie, then she said nothing about it; Harry was grateful. "Can you please tell Ron Weasley that I'd like to speak with him?" he asked, placing his wand in the pocket of his robes, to convey that he didn't plan on harming Ron.

The woman in the portrait nodded, and disappeared to the other side.

"Thank you," said Harry, even though he was only speaking to an empty painting.

The woman then reappeared on Harry's side of the painting, and the frame swung open like a door as Ron stepped out. When he caught sight of Harry, he glared at him and turned to return to the Gryffindor common room, but Harry stopped him by saying, "Ron, I want to talk to you."

Ron reluctantly turned back around to glare at Harry again. "Fine," he sneered. "Spit it out."

"Why do you hate me?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Because you're a Slytherin. I told you already. I thought that we were going to be friends, and then you got yourself Sorted into Slytherin. You're evil, Potter, all of you slimy snakes are. You-Know-Who was a Slytherin, after all."

"What about before You-Know-Who began Hogwarts?" Harry asked, having only a small idea of what he would say next, if Ron said what he thought he would say.

"Grindelwald—"

"—attended Durmstrang," said Harry, recalling a tidbit of information he had picked up from a book he'd found in the library. He'd read about the war against Grindelwald, and the war against Voldemort, too. He could easily recall information about both wars, and this was a bit of that. "I'm sure you know what Durmstrang is, Ron. You're the one of us who grew up in the Wizarding world, after all."

"I know what Durmstrang is!" Ron shouted. "Fine, Grindelwald attended Durmstrang. But a bunch of his followers were Slytherins, too, and—"

"'A bunch of,'" Harry echoed. "What about those who weren't?"

Ron growled, which Harry was not expecting. But he ignored it.

"Listen, Potter. You just don't get it, obviously. All Slytherins are evil. It's about time you wrap your head around that."

"You're only saying that because that's what you've been told you're entire life. You're spouting out prejudices and warped views and opinions because that's what you've been taught for eleven years. And Merlin was a Slytherin."

"Merlin wasn't a Slytherin!" Ron shouted, stamping his foot as if for extra effect. "He can't have been! Merlin was good! He was Light! He can't have been in Slytherin! Slytherins aren't good, Slytherins aren't Light!"

"Pick up a book, Ron. There's plenty in the library, and I'm sure there are plenty of biographies about Merlin. I found one there, after all. He was a Slytherin. Get over, it, Ron, accept it. Not all Slytherins are evil, that's just a prejudiced stereotype."

Ron drew his wand, and shouted, "Flipendo!" but Harry whipped out his wand, too, and cast a Shield Charm. Ron growled again.

"What now, Ron?" asked Harry. "Are you going to claim that I'm using Dark magic by defending myself?"

Ron grabbed Harry's shoulders and shoved him away. "Leave me alone, Potter!" he yelled.

"You're the one who tried to attack me—"

"I mean stop trying to come and talk to me!" Ron shouted over his shoulder, and muttered something under his breath, too low for Harry to hear; the portrait swung open again. Ron climbed in through the hole in that wall, leaving Harry alone in the corridor, with only the woman in the painting for company. He sighed.

"Thank you," he told the woman again, and she nodded.

"I tried," Harry muttered as he exited that particular corridor, and went down the stairs, heading for the library.


"Point Me Ron Weasley," Harry whispered as he exited the library, the Merlin biography in his hand. He was unsure as to whether or not this was a good idea, but he let that thought go. Then another thought popped into his head, leaving Harry wondering if Ron would try to attack or due him again, but he shook his head and the thought out of his mind.

The wand led him to a courtyard, where Ron stood, speaking with Dean, Seamus, and Neville. Theodore Nott sat not too far away, looking as if he were being excluded. Harry pocketed his wand; he didn't want to appear a threat. Ron saw him, though, and immediately began to shout.

"I told you, stop following me!" he yelled, apparently wanting to make a scene.

Harry said nothing, and held the book out to the angry Gryffindor.

"What's this?"

"It's a book, Ron," said Harry dryly. Theodore Nott chuckled slightly, but stopped when Ron shot him a glare.

"I know it's a book, Potter." He spat Harry's surname as if it were some obscene, vile curse.

"A biography about Merlin," Harry explained, opening the book himself to the page that he had marked, since Ron obviously wasn't about to take it. He pointed to a specific sentence. "See, Ron? Merlin was a Slytherin."

"Oh, sure, he was," Ron growled, rolling his eyes. "You know what I think, Potter? I think that you used a spell on that book, some sort of illusion magic, to make it say that he was a Slytherin, just so you could embarrass me."

"I don't even know illusion magic," said Harry, then took his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the book. "Finite Incantatem," he stated. Nothing happened. "No illusion magic."

"You know, I don't think you actually used the spell. I'm sure you just pretended to, but didn't actually cast it. Now go and slither back into your hole, and leave me alone. And take the book with you. I don't want to deal with Slytherins and all of their lies."


Harry was not looking forward to Thursday morning when he would have double Potions with the Gryffindors, but it came. Of course it came. Class on Monday had been cancelled, because of a nasty explosion on Friday afternoon that took the third year Gryffindor boy the entire weekend and Monday to clean during his detention. He climbed out of bed, and grabbed his clothes, changing out of his pajamas and into his uniform. He placed the necessary textbooks, his Potions ingredients, and his collapsible cauldron into his schoolbag, having already memorized the schedule. Draco, Blaise, Vince, and Greg had already left for breakfast. Draco and Blaise both woke early during the week, and Blaise during the weekends, as well. Greg and Vince had adopted their sleeping schedule.

I hope there's not going to be any trouble with Ron during Potions, thought Harry, though he knew it was pointless. Every time Harry earned House points, especially during Potions, Ron always protested, saying that Slytherins didn't deserve House points. And they would be brewing a new potion today, according to Snape: the Forgetfulness Potion. Harry had been doing well in Potions, earning points during each lesson, so Ron would likely have several opportunities to cause a scene.

Harry had arrived at the Great Hall by then, and he deliberately ignored the Gryffindor table as he went to sit down. "Hello, Draco," he greeted, as he piled his plate with bacon. "Zabini. Greg, Vince." He nodded to each of his roommates. Draco nodded, too, in response, and Blaise smirked. Greg and Vince said nothing, but they rarely said anything, anyway. They usually remained silent and expressionless.

He wolfed down his bacon, then took Magical Draughts and Potions out of his bag, opening to the chapter on the Forgetfulness Potion. He finished the chapter quickly, and placed the textbook back into his bag.

Double Defense Against the Dark Arts, with the Gryffindors, was uneventful, as it always was. Quirrell never held a practical lesson, and the classes were almost as boring as History of Magic was.

He made his way back downstairs to the dungeons, after Defense, and was early to Potions. Snape must have been in his office, because he wasn't in the classroom.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry looked up. Snape stood at the door to the classroom, arms crossed. He stared at Harry. Harry felt an unfamiliar, uncomfortable sensation in his mind, a brought a hand up to his forehead. "Professor."

"What are you doing in my classroom at this time?"

"I wanted to be early for Potions class, sir."

Snape looked as if he were about to speak, but then Draco rushed into the classroom, panting. "Harry! There you are, I could couldn't find you."

"Hello, Draco," greeted Harry, letting Draco sit next to him. He saw Snape move from the doorway to his desk.

The rest of the Slytherin first years arrived not too long after Draco did, taking their assigned seats on the right side of the room. When the Gryffindors entered, Ron glared at Harry, then went to find his seat on the left side.

"Today," began Snape, "you will be brewing the Forgetfulness Potion. The instructions—" he flicked his wand, "—are on the board."

Harry read through the instructions three times before beginning the potion. Draco helped with the actual brewing, this time, unlike when the first years brewed the Boil Cure Potion. Snape swept around the classroom, between desks, across asiles, making sneering remarks about the incompetency of the students and how poorly-brewed the potions were—remarks that were primarily directed at the Gryffindors. More specifically, directed at Ron and Neville, whom Snape seemed to particularly hate. Harry watched the Gryffindor side of the classroom, and he watched Snape, and he watched Draco, but he didn't turn his focus from the potion he was brewing.

Snape finally reached the Slytherin side of the classroom, the side closest to the door and the ingredients cabinet, and his comments and remarks turned to those of insult and contempt to tolerance and praise. He announced to the class that Blaise and Daphne's potion was a much better example of a well-brewed potion than Lily and Hermione's. He mentioned, loud enough for the Gryffindors to hear clearly, that Pansy and Millicent's potion had been perfectly stirred, while Ron and Neville had stirred their own potion nine times clockwise instead of the required seven times counterclockwise. When he reached Harry and Draco's desk, he nodded, and announced, "Well, done, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy. Twenty points to Slytherin, each. This—" Snape gestured to Draco's cauldron, "—is a proper example of a well-brewed—dare I say, perfectly-brewed—Forgetfulness Potion." Harry refrained himself from staring. Snape had been awarding points to Harry since the first day, after Harry had showed his proficiency in Potions, but twenty points was the most that Harry had earned at once, from any of the professors. He hadn't been expecting it—but, of course, he was grateful.

Ron abruptly stood, as Harry knew that he would. And Draco had earned points, too, so Ron would complain even more. "Potter and Malfoy don't deserve those points. Sir," he added, as if as an afterthought, and Harry could hear the sneer in the Gryffindor's voice. He could feel the sneer, even.

Snape turned slowly to face Ron, and Harry winced slightly; he knew that, whatever punishment Ron was about to receive, it would be rather nasty. "And why, Mr. Weasley, is that?"

"Because they're Slytherins. Slimy little snakes. Evil, all of them. Including, I'm sure, you, Professor."

Harry stared, now, his gaze flickering between Ron and Snape—and Draco, too, who was grinning in what looked like anticipation.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for blatant disrespect of a professor."

Ron looked as if he were about to protest, and Harry understood. He knew that Ron would lose points, but fifty points taken from Gryffindor was too much. And it was only the third week.

"No," snapped Ron. Harry focused his gaze on the redhead. He was still standing calmly, his chair pushed aside, his hands clasped behind his back, but Harry could see a fire in his eyes, despite the distance: the same fierce, anti-Slytherin fire that Harry had seen during his first argument with Ron in the Great Hall, and during his second argument with Ron outside of the Gryffindor common room, and during his third argument with Ron in the courtyard.

Snape sharply snapped his gaze back to Ron, who didn't even flinch. Harry would, under that gaze.

But Ron is a Gryffindor. And you aren't, whispered a sly voice in the back of Harry's mind that Harry distrusted; it sounded like the voice of a snake, or a Slytherin.

"What did you say?"

"I said 'no,' Professor," snapped Ron, his calm mask fading. "You're not going to take fifty points away from Gryffindor. So take those points from Slytherin—Merlin knows they don't deserve them—and give us Gryffindors our well-deserved points back."

"One hundred points from Gryffindor for telling a Professor how to do their job."

"NO!" Ron roared, lunging at Snape. As he stepped away from the furious Gryffindor, Snape took another hundred points from Gryffindor for attempting to attack a professor. Gryffindor House's point count was in the negatives, now; Harry winced. Ron stamped over to the Slytherin side of the room, knocking Draco's cauldron over so that the potion spilled all over the Malfoy heir. He then turned on Snape again. "Not so perfect now, huh?" he shouted.

"Weasley, you've earned yourself detention for the rest of the school year. Eight o'clock, my office, even during the holidays. Yes, Weasley, you have detention on Christmas Day."

"Well, I won't show up! I don't deserve detention! Potter and Malfoy deserve detention! They're Slytherins, they're evil!"

Ron then turned and left the classroom.

"Class dismissed," snapped Snape. "Potter, Malfoy, you've still received full marks for today." Harry and Draco nodded.

Harry stood from his and Draco's desk and followed the other students out of the classroom. He waited for Draco outside of the door, however, while Snape magically repaired Draco's robes and sweater-vest. When Draco caught up to him, Harry headed to the library. Unfortunately, however, he ran into Ron.

"Stop following me, Potter!" Ron shouted.

"I'm not following you, Ron," said Harry calmly. "I'm just trying to get to the library. It's your own fault if you just so happen to be in one of the corridors on the way there." Harry nodded, as if to signal that this conversation was over, but the two Gryffindor fourth year boys who were with Ron, who must have had a free period, stepped in front of him, blocking him from continuing down the corridor.

"Ron here told us a very interesting story, Potter. He told us how you dumped a defective Boil Cure Potion over his head at the beginning of Potions, and he had to go to the hospital wing."

Draco stepped forward from behind Harry's right shoulder. "Well, Spinnett, if Weasley decided that he can get away with lying at the expense of a Slytherin, then perhaps he does deserve a defective Boil Cure Potion dumped over his head."

Joseph Spinnett glared at Draco. "You know what, Malfoy—?"

"Draco—" Harry tried, but Draco cut him off with a sharp glance.

And, out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron draw his wand, and Harry drew his own wand.

"Stupefy!"

"Flipendo!"

Both Harry and Ron flew backwards, landing on the stone floor of the corridor. Harry saw Professor McGonagall approach.

"What is going on?" she demanded, looking between Harry and Ron.

"Potter attacked me, Professor," said Ron, pointing an accusing finger at Harry, who still hadn't found a chance to stand up. "I tried to defend myself, but he was using Dark magic—"

"The Flipendo is not Dark magic, Weasley," Draco interjected. "And, as I recall, it was you who first pulled your wand. You cast the first spell, Weasley. Harry was only trying to defend himself."

"Fifteen points from both of you," said McGonagall firmly, glancing between Harry and Ron again. "Though, as I am aware, Mr. Weasley, Gryffindor House is ready in the negatives, due to your outburst during Potions."

As McGonagall left to do...well, whatever she was leaving to do, Harry saw Draco smirk at Ron. He couldn't stand Draco, sometimes, just like he couldn't stand Ron, sometimes, and having Draco and Ron hate each other was just another problem.