Disclaimer: any character, spell or setting that originates in the Harry Potter stories is the intellectual property of JK Rowling – I am merely borrowing them at no profit.
Rated t for teen, similar to the novels and movies.
Set – hmm, could be during book 4? This could be set in the same world as 'Vince's Ambition', but it is not necessary to have read that to follow this.
….
The past few years had permitted more than a few hallway encounters between Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley. There were normally insults and sneers, perhaps a few threats, and once in a while there were spells in an effort to harm or humiliate the other. Both boys would insist that only the other one started things, usually by the simple fact that they were a 'slimy snake' or a 'stupid Griff', sometimes by virtue of being 'rotten Death-Eater spawn' or 'a disgrace to wizarding heritage'.
Despite the boasting and gloating that either of them would share with their friends later, the truth was that the spats generally ended in favor of Malfoy, due to the fact that was he almost always accompanied by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Crabbe and Goyle were both big, solid boys with more muscle than brains, widely considered to be smarter than trolls, but definitely not as smart as the average kneazle, and kept around for a combination of intimidation and brute strength. Malfoy would have fared much worse if he fought alone, and he knew it – which was why he didn't look for Ron Weasley when he was alone.
Ron Weasley was muttering about the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team, and something about the Griffyndor team play-book. His robe was old, the fabric faded to something closer to charcoal than the crisp black that was preferred, and there were several frayed spots along the hems and over his elbows. One hand made gestures that might have been representing individual Quidditch players as he walked and muttered.
Malfoy, with Crabbe and Goyle following him, sneered at Weasley down the hallway. "Some people have no taste. Not in family, not in houses, not in Quidditch teams."
"Right, imagine being related to a Death Eater, or someone weak-minded enough to be held under the Imperious for years," Ron Weasley glared at Malfoy, seeming to ignore the larger boys. "And at least I haven't been banished to the dungeons of Hogwarts like a slimy snake."
"You babbling buffoon! How dare you insult my father like that!" Malfoy's cheeks turned a bright red, though the rest of his face stayed pale. "The Slytherin dorms are luxurious and comfortable, far beyond anything that you've experienced in that hovel that your family shares."
"You live in a damp, dark hole in the ground, perfect for a stinking snake." One of Weasley's hands had slipped into his pocket, undoubtedly for his wand.
"They talk too much," Crabbe grumbled. "Both of 'em."
Goyle just nodded.
"At least my family can afford to each have our own room, for that matter, we could each have our own house," Malfoy taunted.
The wand emerged from Weasley's pocket, and with a practiced half-twirl and point, the redhead hissed, "Silencio."
Malfoy's lips moved in a series of insults before he realized that there were no sounds. Several increasingly frantic waves of his own wand – eleven and a half inch birch with a dragon heartstring, thank you very much – later, Weasley's spell was broken. Hearing the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor, Malfoy stuffed his wand back into the holster, determined not to be caught casting spells in the hallways.
Of course, he had no objections to the idea of Weasley being caught casting spells in the hallway. That usually merited either fifteen points or a detention, probably with Filch. Fixing his expression into his third best sneer, Malfoy drawled, "Is that really the best you can do? My father taught me a much better way to make people be quiet."
"There isn't a better silencing spell," Weasley countered.
"Of course there is, you ignorant fool. But your family must have been too poor to buy the book. The incantation goes 'reducto' – I suggest you try it the next time those monsters you call brothers are up to trouble."
"My brothers aren't monsters," Ron Weasley's ears and neck had flushed a bright red that clashed with his hair, a red that was starting to spread over the rest of his face. The overall effect would have been feverish except for the narrowed, angry eyes and the way that his hair was sticking up wildly.
"Well they certainly aren't proper wizards," Malfoy scoffed.
"You… you…" Weasley's whole face was red and his eyes had narrowed to thin slits. His knuckles were clenched white as he brought the wand up with the correct jab and he growled out a single, awful word – "Reducto."
The spell hit Malfoy in the chest, with a spray of blood and a disturbing cracking sound. With no more than a shocked sound, Malfoy collapsed to the floor. Crabbe and Goyle stared as Malfoy fell to the floor, blood starting to spread across the robes and stone.
The bright flush drained from Weasley's face and he whispered, "Oh no… I'm going to be in so much trouble for this…"
Ron Weasley spun on his foot and bolted down the hall.
"Uhhhmmmm… Malfoy?" Goyle nudged the bleeding blond's foot with his toe. "You scared him good."
"He isn't faking, that's real blood," Crabbe was frowning now. "You'd best take him to the hospital."
Gregory Goyle scooped Malfoy up from the floor, and then frowned. "I got turned around again. Which way?"
"Follow me," Vincent sighed. He'd known for years that Greg had a terrible sense of direction, and that the real reason Greg always followed people was to keep from getting lost. Hogwarts, where things just didn't have the good manners to hold still, only made things worse.
Malfoy had kept bleeding, moaning a few times on the trip to the hospital wing. Crabbe thought that Malfoy was unconscious, which was a lot easier to deal with than an awake Malfoy. But dead Malfoy might be a bit too much trouble.
"Good heavens! What happened to Mister Malfoy?" Madam Pomfrey pointed her wand at a bed, the covers obligingly moving out of the way for Draco Malfoy to be placed on the mattress. She bustled over, one hand clutching a bottle of something dark red, her wand in the other.
"He's bleeding," Goyle offered.
"But what caused this?" she cast a few charms over the unconscious blond before lifting his head and pouring some of the red potion down his throat. This revealed that the potion was thick, like honey, though probably far more unpleasant tasting.
"Uhhh…" Gregory stammered, "It was… there was…"
"A magic weasel got him," Vincent Crabbe finished.
"Goodness," Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "You'd think after a few years taking Care of Magical Creatures that he'd have the sense not to taunt dangerous beasts. And I do think that's the most I've heard you say at once time in years, Mister Crabbe."
Vince shrugged, and caught Goyle's sleeve, pulling the other boy out of the hospital. Now that Draco Malfoy was in the care of the school nurse, there was no further need for them to stay.
Halfway to the dungeon, Greg looked over at him, his brows lowered as he thought about things. "A magic weasel? But that wasn't -"
Vince interrupted, "Magic. No non-magic people can be here. Weasel 'cause if it was a fight with a person, we get in trouble for not stopping him, or keeping him from getting himself hurt."
"His own fault," Goyle muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. A rattling noise suggested that there might still be a few beans in the Bertie Bott's box that he had in this robe.
Vince snorted, "Doesn't matter to Snape. Malfoys have money and power, so they get out of trouble. We don't have money or power, so it's our fault."
"Even when it isn't," Goyle grumbled. "Does that make sense to smart people? 'Cause is doesn't make sense to me."
"They throw money at problems, and the problems go away. People who need the money make it happen. Big problems take big money to go away. Malfoys have big money, so it's never their fault. If the rich guys think you're a smart poor guy, then they want you to solve their problems. It's easier to be big and dumb," Vince explained.
Greg nodded, and ate a Bertie Botts bean. "Yeah. Magic weasel – a vicious one."
Falling quiet again, the boys went into the Slytherin Common room. They had homework to finish. Homework that unfortunately included several chapters of reading.
Professor Snape swept into the room a few hours later, robes flaring around him. Glaring, he made his usual check to see who was still in the common room and to verify who had gone to their dorms. If any Slytherin was not here, unless it was their Astronomy night, he'd glare and demand explanations from the missing student's friends or year-mates.
His eyes skipped over them twice before returning with a larger than normal frown. "Misters Crabbe and Goyle, where is Mister Malfoy?"
Crabbe made a mumble that could be determined to have an s and an l sound in it, but was entirely incomprehensible. He didn't look at Professor Snape as he mumbled, instead staring at the ink blotches on his fingers.
Goyle glanced at the Professor, his gaze going no higher than the shiny black buttons on his chest before he blurted, "A magic weasel got him. He's in the hospital."
"A… magic weasel?" Professor Snape's voice rose a little, before dropping to a soft murmur, "What… a Jarvey? Charms gone awry? Hagrid?"
Crabbe and Goyle focused on looking very big and very dumb and very confused at their little table.
"Never mind, asking the two of you is an exercise in frustration. I'll go speak with Madam Pomfrey myself," Professor Snape snarled and stalked away, his robes flaring as he crossed the room.
"a magic weasel," Greg snorted, and half grinned at Vince.
Vince just nodded. Once in a while, even lots of money couldn't make all the effects of what someone did go away. Maybe this would help Malfoy learn to think before he taunted? Considering the years that he'd known Malfoy, Vince decided that it probably wouldn't change anything. Malfoys were very stubborn, and for smart people, they sure learned slow.
He wondered if this would be the only time the 'magic weasel' got Malfoy.
End fragment – Magic Weasel.