The next day at breakfast, the air between Ron and Draco is so chilly you can keep ice cream in it.

"So, what do we have today?" Neville asks.

"Potions," Theo says.

Neville winces. "That sucks. I heard Snape hates Gryffindors."

"Yeah," Theo admits. "Although apparently he's backed off since we started having classes with Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin."

"You know, my grandmother says Gryffindor and Slytherin have hated each other since the founding," Neville says. "Why would they ever stick them together in something as dangerous as Potions?"

Theodore shrugs. "Beats me."

Because it makes the plot more interesting.

"Anyway," Neville says, "got any tips?"

Theo raises an eyebrow. "Uh, this is my first year too, you know."

Neville blushes. "Right. Just nervous."

Theo takes a bite of his waffles. At that moment, a Howler arrives and bobs up and down in front of Ron.

Ron and Draco glance at each other.

"Oh, shit."

The Howler bobs up and down behind Ron throughout Potions, but Snape doesn't do anything besides take ten points from Gryffindor for not opening it before class. Besides that, Potions goes mostly smoothly, except for two occasions where Snape steps in to interrupt Neville before he can melt or explode his cauldron.

"How?" Snape blurts out after this second instance. "How do you possibly turn a Boil Cure potion into explosive materials?"

Neville looks uncomfortable as Snape whisks his cauldron away for cleaning, detoxification, and postmortem, but apart from that class goes calmly. Things are mostly normal in the halls of Hogwarts until Draco stops dead upon seeing a familiar unfamiliar adult.

"Oh, Ronnn," Draco singsongs.

Ron looks at him oddly, and Draco just points. Ron follows his finger, and his mouth drops open when he sees who Draco is pointing to.

"Dad?" Ron asks, shocked.

"Ron!" Arthur Weasley greets him, striding towards him and Draco. "And...Malfoy."

"What are you doing here?" Ron asks.

"Oh, well, I heard about an...issue," he says, cutting his eyes towards Draco. "And so I just had to show up and get it sorted out. One second."

Arthur reaches over and opens the Howler. A chorus of men chanting "Hey!" over and over again erupts out of it.

"AW, YEAH!" Arthur announces to the school at large. "MY NAME IS ART! YOU KNOW I'M SMART! AND I DO MY PART! IT'S TIME TO START! AND DO YOU KNOW WHY?"

The students in the hall give Arthur, Ron, and Draco wide berth as they try to get around them.

"I'LL TELL YOU WHY!" Arthur shouts, ignoring how he's being ignored. "IT'S BECAUSE THIS SICK, SLIMY, SLITHERING SNAKE–" he points to Draco "–GOT MISSORTED INTO THE GREATEST! HOUSE! IN THE WORLD! MY HOUSE! AND THERE AIN'T NO SNAKES IN MY HOUSE! YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

The students shift farther away from Arthur. Before the Weasley patriarch can continue, the main doors to the school fly open.

"LUCIUS MALFOY IN DA SCHOOL, FOOLS!" Lucius exclaims. "GONNA TEACH YOU THE RULES, BECAUSE THE MALFOYS ARE CRUEL! WHOOOOOO!"

"MALFOY!" Arthur yells.

Lucius's head snaps towards him. "WEASLEY!"

"MALFOY!"

"WEASLEY!"

"MALFOY!"

"WEASLEY!"

"SHADDUP!"

The two grown men look at the interrupter: Pomona Sprout, who is rubbing her temple and carrying a mug of tea.

"Jesus Christ, shut up," she mumbles at them. "Fuckers can't even keep their mouths shut when a lady has a hangover...fuck, did Minerva take her bra off last night? We've all told her she can't do that...Jesus fuck!"

Sprout wanders into a broom closet and casts a silencing spell over it. Seconds later, Arthur and Lucius resume their bickering.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WALK IN HERE LIKE SOME KIND OF KING, WEASLEY?" Lucius shouts. "WELL THERE'S ONE KING ON THIS EARTH! ONE! AND YOU KNOW WHO IT IS? JESUS, MOTHERFUCKER! AND THERE'S ONE MAN, I SAY THERE'S ONE MAN, ONE MAN IN ALL THE WIZARDING WORLD WHO CAN WALK INTO HOGWARTS AND BEND THE HEADMASTER TO HIS WHIMS, AND THAT MAN IS LUCIUS! MALLLLLFOOOOYYYYY!"

"YOU TRYING TO STEP TO ME?" Arthur shouts back. "YOU TRYING TO STEP, SON? I GOT SEVEN KIDS, I AIN'T GOT TIME FOR NO STEPSONS! I GOT A FAMILY I LOVE! I GOT A BEAUTIFUL WIFE! A DRAGON-TAMING SON! A PREFECT SON! TWO PRANKSTER SONS! A BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER! AND ANOTHER SON NOBODY EVER MENTIONS! BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY, I GOT A SON HAVING TO PUT UP WITH A SNEAKY SNAKE IN HIS DORM! AND YOU KNOW WHAT? THAT! WON'T! STAND! BECAUSE MY NAME! IS ART! I'M VERY! SMART! I DO! MY PART! AND I HAVE! A HEART! SO LET'S TAKE IT! FROM! THE! START!"

"OH YEAH, WEASLEY?"

"OH YEAH, MALFOY!"

"IT'S ON!"

The two irate fathers charged at each other before skidding to a stop in front of each other. They held out their left hands and linked them as they prepared for deadly combat. The halls of Hogwarts fell silent, partly because everyone wanted to treat the battle with the reverence it deserved but mostly because everybody else had class and it was unlikely they'd get a late pass for yet another fight between Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley.

The thumb war is long and hard-fought, with Lucius and Arthur darting their thumbs in at each other repeatedly but never able to completely trap the other. There are a couple of instances where Arthur gains the upper hand by getting his thumb down on top of Lucius's, but Lucius always manages to wiggle it free after a couple of seconds. The fight has gone on for thirteen minutes before anyone interrupts.

"Hey–"

"–dad!"

Attention jarred, Arthur looks up at his twin sons. This provides Lucius with an opportunity to use his right hand to grab Arthur's thumb and slam it down before pinning it with his thumb right on the joint before Arthur can look back, and ten seconds later, Arthur is forced to concede defeat.

"You cheated!" he complains.

Lucius smirks. "It's not my fault you care more about the love of your family than winning wrestling matches. I guess that's why you're...A LOSER, WEASLEY! A LOSER WITH A LOSER FAMILY OF LOSERS! WITH RED HAIR!"

"Our hair is–" one twin starts to say.

"–rather red," the other twin finishes.

"Can't buy it–"

"–in a store–"

"–or at a salon–"

"–or from Professor Snape."

"Although–"

"–I bet–"

"–he wishes–"

"–he could."

"Boys," Arthur says levelly. "Do you know why I'm here?"

Fred and George glance at each other and then back at their father.

"It's because I received the very disturbing news that a Malfoy has been sorted into Gryffindor," Arthur explains. "And–"

"YOU BASTARD!" Draco yells at Ron. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO TELL HIM!"

"I DIDN'T!" Ron defends himself.

"I did," an unfamiliar voice says.

Percy Weasley oozes towards them like pus. Not like an octopus, because octopuses swim, or occasionally climb, and often use their suction cups to move. He moves towards them like actual pus. Like from a wound, or a zit. That's how he oozes towards our joint family gathering. Like zit pus.

"YOU?" Ron and Draco ask at the same time.

"That's right," Percy says pusily. "I knew that the Sorting Hat must have made a mistake."

"Say what?" Seymour asks, popping into the scene. "I don't make mistakes!"

Seymour, you're not supposed to show up and explain yourself until later in the chapter. How'd you get here, anyway?

I'm the Sorting Hat. I can go anywhere in Hogwarts. Not in the world, mind you, but Hogwarts, yeah, I can get everywhere.

Even the Chamber of Secrets?

Yeah. Why, you wanna go there?

Not yet. But if you can go to the Chamber of Secrets, why'd you need the phoenix to bring you there?

The phoenix didn't bring me there. I brought the phoenix there so it could piss on Harry Potter.

I thought it cried on Harry Potter.

Well maybe that's what the parental groups demanded because you have to think of the children, but no. Birds can't cry. It's anatomically impossible. Q.E.D. Fawkes pissed on Harry Potter.

Huh. You learn something new every day.

Actually, Fawkes shat on Harry Potter, since birds don't pee either, but that doesn't parse as well. I guess what I'm trying to say is that J. K. Rowling is a hack when it comes to avian biology.

Aren't most people?

Yes, but being a hack is no excuse for being inaccurate.

Wise words, Seymour. Now can we return to the story?

Certainly.

Seymour pops out of the scene and returns to the headmaster's office. The rest of the gathered group returns their attention to Percy.

"Yes," Percy says pusily. "I knew that it was in everybody's best interest if we got this sorted out so that Draco might be placed in a house more...not Gryffindor. After all, as a responsible prefect, it is my job to protect the students from bad influences."

"YOU CALLING MY SON A BAD INFLUENCE, PUNK?" Lucius howls in Percy's face.

"Yes," Percy says pusily.

"I WOULD PUNCH YOU were this not a school and you under eighteen," Lucius says in the most calm voice he's used yet. "BUT DRACO IS EXACTLY WHERE HE NEEDS TO BE! BECAUSE HE IS A MALFOY! AND MALFOYS! SUCCEED! AND WEASLEYS! SUCK, SEE?"

"Regardless," Percy says pusily, "I think we should all go visit the headmaster so he can straighten all this out."

Arthur nods. "That's a good idea."

The group sets out for the headmaster's office. Suddenly Lucius stops.

"WAIT!" he yells. "I ALMOST FORGOT! DOBBY!"

Dobby pops into existence next to Lucius.

"HIT! MY! MUSIC!"

Dobby does so, and the group struggles up the stairs as the music blares. As the song goes on, Lucius looks confused, and then annoyed.

Would you like some sweeties little girl

Come a little closer

I'm gonna show you a brand new world tonight

After a minute and a half, Lucius has had enough. "DOBBY! WRONG MUSIC!"

I've got a palace full of fantasy

Ready-made just for you and me

Once you're there I'm gonna take you for a ride

The music finally cuts off. As usual, the silence is deafening.

"Why do we even have that music?" Lucius wonders normally.

The trek continues in silence until they reach the gargoyle outside Dumbledore's office. Percy confidently strides up to it.

"We're here to see Dumbledore," he says pusily.

"What's the password?" the gargoyle grumbles.

Percy looks surprised pusily. "The password? Uh..."

"Lemme guess, you don't know it," the gargoyle says.

"No, I know it!" Percy defends himself pusily. "Just give me a second!"

The gargoyle scoffs. "Bullshit, kid."

"No, I know it!" Percy exclaims pusily. "It's, uh, uh, yeah, okay, it's, uh, TWIX!"

"Wrong...password...bitch," the gargoyle grinds out. "And yes, Dumbledore did tell me to say it that way."

Lucius rolls his eyes. "Step aside, Weasley, I know what the password is."

Percy sticks his nose in the air pusily. "I sincerely doubt–"

Lucius shoves Percy to the side, and Percy goes tumbling down the stairs. Lucius smirks and steps up to the gargoyle. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," the gargoyle says sarcastically.

"Colby Keller," Lucius says.

The gargoyle shifts to the side. "You may enter."

The group tromps into the office, and the author wishes he had split the party, as neither Fred nor George nor Ron nor Draco nor Arthur have had any speaking lines since heading up to the headmaster's office, where the headmaster incidentally is not.

Arthur clears his throat. "Where's the headmaster?"

"Oh, he's not here," Seymour says.

Everyone looks at the Sorting Hat.

"What?" Seymour says. "I fill in for him sometimes. You know, when he's indisposed. Like right now. Anyway, what do you people want?"

"We want to know why Draco was sorted into Gryffindor," Arthur says. "After all, there's no way a MALFOY could EVER BE BRAVE!"

If Seymour had eyes, it'd roll them. "Please. Draco was sorted into Gryffindor because he's shortsighted, rude, and completely tactless."

Ron draws himself up, affronted. "That is not what Gryffindor stands for!"

"Oh, please," Seymour says. "You got sorted into Gryffindor because you're blunt, shortsighted, and have a quick temper."

"Oh yeah?" Arthur asks. "Well Malfoy has a quick temper too! So what's Slytherin stand for, huh?"

"Selfishness, arrogance, and good financial planning," Seymour explains. "See, while Lucius is a lot like you, he at least knows how to sell merch."

"HE'S A SELL-OUT!" Arthur yells.

"And that's why he's rich, and you're poor," Seymour says. "Now, if there are no more questions?"

Percy heaves himself into the room pusily. "Where's the headmaster?"

At that moment, the door to the closet opens and Dumbledore falls out, completely and utterly naked.