Disclaimer: I didn't invent Harry Potter and I didn't invent the English language, but I'm using them both. So there.

Author's notes: This story features occasional comments from the narrator. That may be me or perhaps it's just the fandom in its entirety. Either way- totally sarcastic.

And remember: Review, review, review!!!! I so very much so loff your reviews.

Chapter 1

The Injustice

"Fight in the Charms hallway!"

This was the cry ringing through the corridors, calling all winter-dulled students to witness the one, the only, the fight of the century. You could almost hear the horrified gasps and yells, drifting all the way up to the Astronomy Tower, and promising a distraction from a mid-holiday stupor. It was going down now, a glorious fight to the bitterest end. Push to the front row and you might even get some blood splattered on your robes!

Who wouldn't want that?

Not that this appealed much to Ginny Weasley, who had been enjoying her holiday with a delicious vanilla sundae. But even she heard the news, as it spread like wildfire from the mouth of Colin Creevey. It was the only explanation as to why every single student still at Hogwarts over the winter holiday was streaming out of the room straight towards Flitwick's classroom. Shrugging, Ginny pulled herself out of a cushy common room armchair to join the mob, leaving her ice cream to see what was going on.

But little did she know that this was no ordinary fight.

This was a fight for family honor, for personal pride, and maybe just a bit out of pure, unwavering, hair-color induced jealousy (because everyone knows that blondes have more fun).

Weasley vs. Malfoy, the battle to begin a war.

~~

"Is that all you've got Weasley? You didn't even ask me nicely."

"I said, shut it," said Ron angrily, snarling at that irritating, humming git that was Draco Malfoy.

"If you're not going to be polite about it, I don't see why I should," responded Draco lightly, in his sexily aristocratic voice (at least that's how he'd describe it). And truly, the only reason he was doing this was to teach the Gryffindors some manners. He continued to hum and sing to the tune that had stopped Ron dead in the corridor just moments before:

Weasley cannot hm hmm hm

Hm cannot block hm hm hm hmm

Hmm hm Slytherins all sing

Weasley is our King!

Sure it had been months, but that tune was still excruciatingly recognizable, even when sung so softly by a certain smirking white-blond someone, passing you in the hall. That jeering tune, along with an already horrible day, was enough to push even "royalty" over the edge.

At the time, Ron barely thought. He didn't notice the menacing presence of Crabbe or Goyle, either of whom could eat a scrawny little Weasley boy alive as part of a well balanced breakfast, and still have room for tea and crumpets. Ron's only goal was to shut Malfoy up. To that end, he drew his fist back and went for the face.

Not the face!

A resounding crack split through the corridor, as Ron's fist connected with a hard, though attractively tissue paper wrapped package. In a split second, Draco had deftly moved the parcel to protect his precious facial features.

Oh thanks be to the glorious heavens above!

"Oh shit," swore Ron, trying to shake the pain out of his hand.

Malfoy lowered his parcel while making a small gesture to keep Crabbe and Goyle at bay. He was having far too much fun with this to ever let them use his newest toy as a punching bag.

"Tut, tut Weasley. Hasn't anyone ever told you to use your words, and not your fists? I already knew your family lived like animals, but I had no idea you acted like them too."

A small crowd had begun to gather in the hallway to watch the skirmish up close. They'd divided themselves almost without thought, half flowed into Ron's corner, half behind Draco. The sides were clearly drawn, although Draco still managed to bask in attention from either side, not being one to discriminate.

"Lucky for me," said Malfoy airily, "I had something to defend against your barbarian attack. It's a present for my mother in case you were wondering. Belgian Crystal. And I hope for your sake that it's not broken. I'm sure it's worth at least twice as much as your house."

"Shut up Malfoy," hissed Ron, infuriated still more by that persistently cool gaze and stanch nonchalance.

Ron's fist went whizzing through thin air, missing entirely as Malfoy dodged the punch. Having expected to hit something, Ron was thrown entirely off balance. He stumbled forward, just managing to keep his footing, while that disdainful voice continued to taunt him.

"I never imagined you would fight like such a girl, Weasley. Seems like all those nights at the poor house, fighting over the last slice of stale pumpernickel have yet to pay off."

And it was with that insult that Ginny reached the mass of people assembled in the hall. Even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't mistake that sneering tone, or even who its insult could possibly be meant for. Ginny pushed her way through the crowd, while Harry Potter trailed close behind. He had seen her making her way down the corridor, and had followed.

"Ron!" Ginny yelled stepping towards her brother into the ring of onlookers. "What do you think you're doing?"

Harry moved out of the crowd too, grabbing Ginny before she could reach her brother. She turned to him in surprise, but her incredulous gaze was only met by a brief glance. Harry already had his wand out, pointing straight at Malfoy.

"Back off Malfoy," said Harry steely. "It's two against one now."

Ron glanced up at them; face flushed and eyes fiery. His voice was unwavering.

"Stay out of this, both of you," said Ron. "I can handle him alone."

"What?! No way Ron," said Ginny in alarm, trying furiously to shake Harry's grip. "You can't do this!"

But Ron remained deaf to his sister's appeals.

"Oh isn't that sweet," cooed Malfoy. "Personally, I think it's best you listen to them. It's really a hopeless situation for you otherwise. I'll bet even that whorey little sister of yours could beat you to a-"

But he was cut off mid-insult. Ron had spun around suddenly and, with all his frenetic anger thrown into one movement, connected with the side of Malfoy's face.

POW!

Ginny let out a small cry as the blow hit, while the rest of the audience gasped as one. Draco lurched sideways, the crowd scattering as he fell into the rough stone wall. He turned his scratched face to Ron, a small steam of blood rolling down one cheek. But that didn't stop Ron from coiling his arm back for another swing, oblivious to the tremendous forms of Crabbe and Goyle lumbering towards him.

And that's when Harry and Ron switched places.

The yells and jeering of the surrounding crowd came to a sudden confused halt.

But in that eerie silence, as Ginny wondered why it was now Harry standing in the way of Crabbe's clenched fist, his glasses skewed and face bewildered, Ron was still pumped with adrenaline and an unhealthy dose of fury. He saw Harry in a daze, as the massive fist of Crabbe came hurtling towards him in a lethal undercut. In that dreamlike instant, Ron ran from his place in the crowd, and threw himself in front of the blow.

"Oof"

Crabbe's fist buried itself in Ron's stomach. With a tremendous groan, he collapsed to the floor.

The crowd burst into hysterics.

"How did that happen?"

"Did you see that!"

Ginny rushed from the throng of students towards her brother, trembling on the ground. She felt a bit dizzy, just watching him in so much pain. Harry was bent down, waving a hand uselessly in front of Ron's face.

"Ron, Ron! Are you alright?"

"Oooo my owww pain uhhng," Ron burbled.

"I doubt he's alright," interpreted Harry, forsaking his hand-waving efforts

"We have to get him out of here," said Ginny.

And that was exactly what they did, although maybe more speedily than Ron would've liked, for at that moment the surrounding crowd began a frenzied, shoving stampede for escape.

"NO FIGHTING IN THE HALLS!!" yelled Filch, galloping down the corridor in tow of his tattle-tail feline, Mrs. Norris.

"The shackles for anyone I catch, the bloody lot of you!"

And he meant it. Over the holidays, Filch had sole dominion over Hogwarts, and its unending supply of miscreants. The other teachers were much to busy outside of the school to be bothered with babysitting a bunch of students, so they had left Filch as the only adult supervision. He was in a position of absolute power.

Not that this went to his head, of course. You didn't need to be drunk on power to decree mandatory Chinese water torture for overdue library books. No one knew how he'd treat mob gatherings at a hallway fight, and even fewer wanted to find out.

"Help me lift him!" yelled Harry over the noise of the frantic mob. Heaving up Ron, who had passed out from the pain, Harry and Ginny dragged him as quickly as possible to the first open door, a darkened broom closet. Then all three slipped inside, loosing themselves in the chaotic escape.

As for Draco, he had already slipped away, nimbly dodging the useless Filch and his flea-ridden cat. His face still throbbed where Weasley's fist had connected, a stinging reminder of defeat And if that wasn't bad enough, somehow, Draco had almost seen the famous and beloved Harry Potter pummeled to death. Almost. But Weasley had stolen even that satisfaction with his damned heroics, ruining the divine moment of suffering that Potter so richly deserved.

Draco was seething with indignance and bent on revenge. Nobody, especially some paltry, impoverished, redheaded Gryffindor, was going to do this to him without suffering the consequences. Maybe Weasley thought he was in pain now, but the ruthlessness of a spoiled rotten Slytherin is destined to be far more agonizing than any blow to the stomach.

Beware the wrath of a Malfoy scorned.

~~

Next Chapter: How will Draco avenge this intolerable injustice? Why the hell did Ron and Harry switch places? And what will Harry and Ginny get up to in that broom closet? Sure Ron's there too, but he is unconscious…