Title: Diagon Burning (3/20)

Author name: 1 Eyed Jack

Author email: Drama

Sub Category: Action/Adventure

Keywords: Harry Draco Pansy engine trouble

Rating: R

Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA, OoTP

Summary: Harry Potter is one of the few who remain skeptical when Lucius Malfoy emerges from Azkaban with a full pardon and a plan to start an evil-fighting organization. Exposing Malfoy as a fraud won't be easy amid lies, fights, and hidden agendas. One motorway accident, two definitions for SPEW, three levels of Ministry alert, and lots of four-nication. Chapter 3—Engine Trouble: Draco gets ass, Harry gets bad press, Hogwarts gets a new professor and there is no engine trouble. Ever.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Some canon information in this chapter comes from the Lexicon.

Author notes: Special thanks to everyone that reviewed the last two chapters as well as Gena, Oli and co., and Viola for the betas. Naodrith and Alissa Raboin also looked over earlier versions of the fic.

Diagon Burning

Chapter 3:
Engine Trouble

"Have you seen this, Minerva?" Severus Snape slapped the newspaper on top of her book.

McGonagall peered up at him over her glasses. "I'm sorry, Severus, what can I do for you?"

"The paper, Minerva, have you read it?"

McGonagall set Snape's Prophet aside and returned to Polyjuice and Confundus: Potions, Transfiguration, and the Art of Disguise. Without looking up, she said, "Severus, please. It's five-thirty in the morning. Of course I haven't read it."

"But it's never too early for Transfiguration theory, is it?" Snape stared pointedly at her book.

She glanced at it. "It's never too early to help prepare my students for their NEWT level exams, on which the Transfiguration of disguise features prominently."

"Much as I recognize the academic value of that endeavor, could you please," the word was costing Snape; McGonagall saw his jaw muscles tighten, "take a look at this article?"

McGonagall marked her place and eased the book shut. She picked up the paper. "Which page?"

Through clenched teeth: "The front page, Minerva."

"Oh, of course," she said, suppressing a grin. She flipped to the front cover and looked at the picture and its accompanying headline.

SPEW Sabotage! Boy-Who-Lived: Out of Control? topped a half-page picture of Harry Potter punching Draco Malfoy in the face. The picture-Malfoy collapsed to the ground. He didn't even attempt to fight back. That was abnormal. If she knew anything at all about Potter and Malfoy, it was that their rivalry was hardly one-sided. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood at the far right edge of the picture, sporting identical expressions of shock.

"Why is Lucius Malfoy standing?" McGonagall said. "I thought Azkaban made him a paraplegic."

Snape scowled in response to her questioning eyebrow. "He's still a paraplegic, he's just wearing leg braces. You'd notice them if you looked a little harder at the picture, or read the caption or the story."

McGonagall adjusted her reading glasses and peered at the picture. Just as Potter's fist connected with Malfoy's face, sunlight glinted off metal on Lucius Malfoy's trousers. "What do you know, he is wearing leg braces." She managed to keep the amusement from her voice.

"The article, Minerva." He was getting steadily more and more impatient.

"Right, of course." She began to skim it.

Yesterday's SPEW inauguration ended in disaster—a crazed Harry Potter leapt onto the stage—Lucius's son Draco tried to stop Potter with a peaceful tap on the shoulder, but Potter refused to leave the podium—"I was so shocked, " says eyewitness Norrick Travers, 47—" the next thing I knew he was on stage and poor young Malfoy was having his head beat against the podium"—neither Lucius Malfoy nor SPEW have decided to press charges—"The boy has always been unhinged," said Minister Fudge, when informed of Mr. Malfoy's decision not to prosecute—"Lucius's capacity for forgiveness is extraordinary. I cannot think of a better man to lead us in the fight against evil in the world."

McGonagall put down the paper. "Seems like a typically unbiased piece of Prophet reporting to me, Severus." She didn't even try to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"A photograph is hardly subject to bias," Snape hissed as Potter's fist connected with Malfoy's jaw again.

"Somebody had to choose the photograph," she said. "And that someone is subject to bias. Nevertheless, the question still remains as to why you barged into my room at 5:30 in the morning to show me this."

"Potter is—"

She cut him off. "Just to preempt what I think you're going to say, no, I will not take points, assign detentions, or punish Potter in any other way. The school year has not yet begun."

"I was going to ask for expulsion."

She glared at him over the top of her glasses and didn't deign to answer.

"Minerva, Potter's disregard for the rules—"

"Is almost as great as Draco Malfoy's. No, I will not recommend expulsion for Potter in this instance, and I am confident he will not give me a reason to in the future."

"As Malfoy is a student in my house, I will of course register an official complaint with the Headmaster."

"Go ahead, but I'd suggest waiting until the sun has at least risen."

Snape glared. "Since Potter's arrogance is only dwarfed by his impatience, I don't see why we should force him to wait any longer than the morning mail for his expulsion notice."

"Your consideration is touching, Severus."

"I often find it had to keep my empathy in check," Snape said dryly.

McGonagall slid her glasses down her nose to look him straight in the eye. "Speaking of your empathy, I think it's good that you constantly give Potter the benefit of the doubt, or else people such as myself and the headmaster might misconstrue your expulsion request as an overreaction born out of personal dislike."

Snape glowered.

"Nevertheless, I'm sure that the headmaster will review your recommendation with a fair and balanced eye." McGonagall smiled. "In the meantime, I'd suggest you prepare Potter a seat in your NEWT level Potions class."

Snape grit his teeth. "He will not pass that class."

"His OWL results suggest otherwise."

"I would remind you, Minerva, that all students wishing to enter a NEWT level class are eligible not only because of their test scores. Entry is also contingent upon faculty approval. I withhold my approval."

She leaned closer to him. "If you keep Potter out of your NEWT class, I will not allow Draco Malfoy into Advanced Transfiguration."

"He received full marks on his OWL."

"As did Potter in Potions," McGonagall said. "But as Malfoy's arrogance is only dwarfed by his impatience, I'm beginning to have serious doubts about his potential for success in my class."

Snape's face twisted into a frown as she used his own words against him. "Cute, Minerva."

She picked up Polyjuice and Confundus. "I would love to discuss this further over breakfast, Severus, but that doesn't begin for another two and a half hours."

He scowled. "I'm going to see Dumbledore."

"Best of luck," she said flippantly as he stomped out of her room. He had forgotten the Prophet. Down on her coverlet, Potter had begun to pull Malfoy's hair.

-

On the morning of September 1st, Fred and George set off a load of Dungbombs just for fun, Pigwidgeon nested in Hermione's hair, and Harry's Potions book went missing—although in Ron's opinion, there was nothing wrong with that. Hermione nearly had a fit and sent Fred and George on the hunt for it, under pain of death if they were unsuccessful.

It was, in all, a typical beginning to the school year for the Weasley household.

They managed to get to Kings Cross all in one piece, all except Fred, that is, but Ron was fairly certain that the detached left hand was intentional. It grabbed Mrs. Weasley's shoulder and made her scream right in the middle of the station, which did little to prevent Muggles from paying attention to them. At least Fred had the foresight to hide the flying hand behind a potted plant as Mrs. Weasley screeched.

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny slid through the barrier onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters as Mrs. Weasley apologized loudly to the staring gaggle of Muggles. Ron grabbed the luggage his mother had dropped in the confusion and followed them.

"Hurry up and load the trunks," Hermione said. "We've got to get to the Prefects' Car. We're having a meeting on the way."

"Couldn't wait till they got to Hogwarts, could they?" Ron said, shoving his trunk in the baggage car, then doing the same with hers.

"Ron, don't be snippy," Hermione snipped, then sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just—under a little pressure right now."

"Before the school year's even started?" That just wasn't—no, this was Hermione. It was possible.

"Yes, Ron, and we're going to go to the Prefects' Car now, before we do anything else."

The last thing Ron wanted to do was go off with Hermione to the front of the train and listen to that effing Hufflepuff Head Boy—Ron forgot his name, Ernst or Edwin or something equally stupid—blabber on for two hours about preventing pranks and policing the corridors. "Didn't you hear, Hermione? Only one representative per house is supposed to attend the meeting."

"No. I hadn't heard." Hermione crossed her arms, staring at him with something that looked alarmingly like suspicion.

"They want some of us to police disturbances here on the train," he said. "I got the letter telling me about it in the summer."

"The school usually sends me things by Muggle post because of my parents," Hermione said. "And I have been at Grimmauld Place since July. But there's never been a problem before."

Harry cottoned on. "Your letter must have gotten lost in the mail," he said.

"So it's all figured out," Ron said before Hermione could argue. "You go to the meeting, Hermione. I'll take the corridors."

"Make sure he does it, Harry." Hermione rounded on Ron. "I know how you skive off."

"Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley ran towards them as quickly as she could while dragging each of the twins by the ears. She dropped them to envelop Hermione in a hug and said, "Don't work yourself too hard this year"—already too late for that. Hermione promised she'd try not to, which elicited a snort from Ginny. Harry and Ron resisted similar commentary.

Mrs. Weasley moved onto Ginny. "Under no circumstances are you to leave school before you qualify as a witch, do you understand me? And no charming swamps and setting off fireworks in the corridors. That goes for Ron, too. And Harry, don't die." Finally she turned to Ron, "Just…be safe, all right?" But as she clutched him for a tight hug, she whispered low and fierce, "Watch him, Ron. Keep an eye on Harry."

Ron pulled away and nodded. His mother's eyes were sad.

As the train pulled out of Kings Cross, George, Fred, and Fred's severed hand waved in time. Mrs. Weasley didn't wave. She stood there like someone had died and she didn't believe it. Ron watched her all the way out of the station.

-

They canvassed the entire train for a free compartment without success. Even a half-free compartment would have sufficed, but the only place they saw even one free seat was the Prefects' Car and Ron refused to go near it, not wanting to get roped into the meeting he was supposed to be at anyway. When Ginny and Harry approached the door, a very determined-looking fifth year Hufflepuff named Steve informed them that they were not to enter the Prefect's car under pains of "dispulsion," which sounded to Ginny like an indecisive combination of expulsion and dismemberment. Neither she nor Harry was interested in learning the actual definition firsthand, so they caught up with Ron and spent the past fifteen minutes opening every single compartment door on the entire train with the exception of the last three compartments on the left side of the last car, all of which, with their current luck, would certainly be full. Thus, in Ginny's estimation, they were approximately 18 people away from having disrupted the entire student population of Hogwarts.

She rapped her knuckles against the first of the doors.

"Yes?" It was full of seventh year Ravenclaws, including Cho Chang, whose presence didn't faze Harry nearly as much as it would have two years ago. Ginny checked his face to be certain.

"Sorry."

"Thanks anyway." She closed the door.

Twelve people away from the goal. Ginny rapped on the second-to-last door. No answer. She tried again.

Still no answer.

She slid the door open, gaped, then closed her eyes. She turned to Ron. "Please tell me I didn't just see Draco Malfoy snogging a topless Pansy Parkinson."

Ron blanched. "Oi, Malfoy, Parkinson, get a room or something."

Malfoy removed his hand from Parkinson's thigh and ran it through his hair. "Seems to me we have a room, Weasley. The door was shut. That means it's ours. Or couldn't you tell?"

Although she was red and breathless, Pansy Parkinson didn't seem in the least bit ashamed to be showing her tits to three Gryffindors. "Draco, be nice. Weasley doesn't have much experience with ownership."

Ron's face tightened. "I'd punch you if you weren't a girl."

Parkinson smiled nastily. "Likewise. I don't hit pussies."

Ginny and Harry were quick enough to grab Ron by each shoulder. "Come on, Ron," Harry said. "You should be happy for Malfoy. He's finally shagging someone other than Crabbe and Goyle."

Malfoy ignored him. "Hey Potter, that was quite the glamour shot of you in the Daily Prophet. Were you foaming at the mouth or was that just some shaving cream you'd missed?"

Harry kicked the door shut.

"What was that about?" Ron asked.

"Nothing," Harry said.

"Come on." Ginny moved toward the last remaining compartment. Ron's fists were still clenched. With a small measure of trepidation, she opened the door.

Mercifully, it was empty. She could vaguely hear Malfoy and Parkinson's thumping through the compartment wall, but it was far better than seeing them in the flesh.

It took Ron five minutes to cool down and another two after that to break out the sweets and chessboard. He sat in a pile of jelly slug wrappers, moving his pieces sticky-fingered against Harry and Ginny's. At first he had protested that this alliance gave them an unfair advantage, but Harry urged him to remember a game where either of them had beaten him (there was that one time in third year when Ron had been dead-tired and Ginny had gotten Hermione to cross-reference each of his moves in Pawn to King: Unleashing the Chess Master Within, which completely didn't count). Understandably, he relented.

Ginny watched the game over Harry's shoulder, whispering into his ear whenever she saw a particularly brilliant move or an open opportunity. Ron, of course, was two steps ahead of both of them, but they had managed to capture his knight and were only a few moves away from cornering the queen.

"Harry, Ron, Ginny!"

The three of them looked up. Seamus stood in the door, sunburned and smiling. He held a rolled-up newspaper.

Dean was a step behind, grinning even wider than Seamus. "Ginny!" he said. She smiled and waved him over. She had been mad about him in June, but, aside from a few letters, they had barely spoken all summer. Her stomach gave a tired flip as he slipped his arm around her waist.

Ron looked mournfully at the chessboard. Ginny smiled and Harry said, "Later, Ron."

"No, that's all right, mate," he said, picking up his rook and moving it a few squares to the right. "I was going to give you two more time to, you know, win or something, but checkmate."

Ginny blinked. She had completely forgotten that rook was even there, let alone capable of trapping their king. Harry sighed. "Oh well."

"He's won again?" Seamus knelt beside Dean. "Some day I'm going to beat you, Ron."

"Same day Ireland actually wins a Quidditch match, right, Seamus?" Since their World Cup win, the Irish national team had been decimated. One of the Chasers had left to have a baby and foreign teams had wooed away the other players with higher salaries. The only World Cup veteran still on the team was the hapless Aidan Lynch, who—as any red-blooded Englishman would point out—hadn't even caught the Snitch. Ireland hadn't won a match in nearly a year and had just suffered a particularly embarrassing defeat to Surinam.

"We shall overcome, Weasley," Seamus replied. "You wait and see."

"I'm waiting, at least." Ron smirked.

"Hey, Harry," Dean said, leaning closer to Ginny. "Have you seen the Daily Prophet?"

"No," Ginny answered. "Mum stopped Harry's subscription. She's been keeping it from us all week."

"If you're talking about the one with me on the front page punching Malfoy," Harry said calmly, "yeah, I saw it."

"How?" Ginny blinked.

"Lupin gave me a copy."

"You didn't show it to me." Ron looked hurt.

Harry shrugged.

Seamus gestured excitedly with the paper. "I've been saving it for a week. I figured we could hang the picture in our dormitory."

"Did you really beat him up like that?" Dean said excitedly. "Right in the middle of the SPEW speech?"

"Yeah." Harry took the paper from Seamus. Ginny scooted closer to take a look. The top fold was completely taken up by a huge photograph of Harry decking Malfoy. Photograph-Malfoy put his hands over his head and tried to run away. Photograph-Harry grabbed him by the shirt and growled, showing all of his teeth. SPEW Sabotage! Boy-Who-Lived: Out of Control? read the byline.

"The article makes you sound insane," Seamus said brightly, "but anyone who knows Malfoy wouldn't blame you.

Harry passed the paper to Dean. He held it out so Ginny and Ron could get a look.

DIAGON ALLEY, LONDON—Yesterday's SPEW inauguration ended in disaster when the Boy-Who-Lived became the Boy-Who-Fought. Halfway through the ceremony, a crazed Harry Potter leapt onto stage, spouting lies about Lucius Malfoy. Lucius's son Draco tried to stop Potter with a peaceful tap on the shoulder, but Potter refused to leave the podium. "I was shocked," says eyewitness Norrick Travers, 47. "I remember Potter screaming, and the next thing I knew he was on stage and beating poor young Malfoy's head beat against the podium. It was disgraceful. No descent wizard fights like that."

Ginny started to skim the exposition. She knew all she wanted to know about the details of the fight from her mother's row with Harry the night after Malfoy's speech.

Despite Potter's uncalled-for ferocity, young Malfoy is not incurably injured. Although Draco is currently unable to walk, talk, or otherwise function, Malfoy family solicitor Cheswick Parkinson, esq., calls the poor boy's condition "serious but stable." Hopefully Draco will recover enough to return to Hogwarts when term starts next week.

"Potter's attack could have been calculated," suggests child psychologist and Prophet consultant Henigus Rookwood. According to Rookwood, Potter's beating may have rendered Draco too weak to claim his spot as Slytherin House Quidditch Captain. "Potter is on a rival House Quidditch team," states Rookwood. "My first thought was that he may have intentionally injured the young Malfoy in an effort to remove his competition."

Whatever the reason for Potter's attack, neither Lucius Malfoy nor SPEW have decided to press charges. "On top of wishing to spare Draco and Narcissa the stress of a trial," writes Mr. Parkinson in a statement released on behalf of the Malfoy family, "Mr. Malfoy feels that Potter was not in full control of his faculties when he attacked his son. He wishes to give Potter a second chance and extends a personal invitation to Potter to join SPEW and finally aid in the fight against evil in the world."

"The boy has always been unhinged," said Minister Fudge, when informed of Mr. Malfoy's decision not to prosecute. 'Always making up wild stories about hippogriffs and Sirius Black. Potter's a menace, I'm telling you—a pathological liar and an egomaniac. Lucius's capacity for forgiveness is extraordinary. I cannot think of a better man to lead us in the fight against evil in the world."

Although we admire Mr. Malfoy's superhuman clemency, The Prophet must impress upon its readers that, in light of recent events, the Boy-Who-Lived is rapidly proving himself to be the Boy-Who-Is-Missing-One-Too-Many-Marbles. It is imperative that he be removed from the public sphere before he commits a crime that makes his attack on young Malfoy seem tame.

—R. Skeeter, Special Correspondent

Ginny understood why Harry hadn't shown them the article.

"The Prophet's a load of wank," Ron said. "Malfoy hit you first and then you get blamed."

"Actually," Harry said, "I hit him first."

"I bet you did!" Seamus said unhelpfully.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "That's not what you both told Mum."

Ron looked uncomfortable. "Malfoy egged Harry on. His whole SPEW speech was worse than a first punch."

The compartment door opened with a crash and Hermione burst in. "Ronald Weasley!" Hermione sounded remarkably like Mrs. Weasley when she was gearing up for a row. "Both prefects were required at the meeting and you knew it from the start. I don't know how you ever succeeded in pulling the wool over my eyes, but I looked like an idiot being the only sixth year Gryffindor there."

"Sorry, Hermione," Ron said, not looking sorry at all.

"Luckily, you weren't the only one missing. Malfoy and Parkinson didn't bother to show up at all, probably though they were too good for the Prefects' meeting—"

Ron coughed uncomfortably.

Hermione blinked at him. "What?"

He blanched. "Er… nothing."

There was a loud thump from the direction of Malfoy and Parkinson's cabin. It was followed by another and a third. Ron turned purple. "What in the world is that?" Hermione asked.

"I think they're having engine trouble," Harry said calmly. Ginny blinked at him and started to laugh.

"Oh," Hermione blinked. "Anyway, Harry, Ernie Macmillan gave me a copy of last week's Daily Prophet to show you. I think you had better take a look at it."

"We already brought it." Dean held up the paper.

"Oh hello, Seamus, Dean," Hermione said. "I didn't see you." She turned back to Harry. "So you've read it then?"

He shrugged. "Yeah."

"Lupin gave him a copy last week." Ron sulked.

"Malfoy had it coming," Seamus announced. "Harry's my hero."

"Well then maybe you should write a separate editorial telling that to the Prophet, because thanks to that cow Rita Skeeter, Harry is now officially a maniacal, rampaging lunatic!" Hermione crumbled Ernie's paper into a ball and pegged it against the wall.

They stared at each other openmouthed. Ron cleared his throat and sat down next to Hermione, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. "It's all right—"

"Stop it, Ron. I'm not crying!" She jerked her head up. And she wasn't, but her face was twisted into a frown. "I just can't believe this article. It's so wrong and unfair and not you, Harry."

Harry's mouth was open. "Hermione, thanks—"

"Don't you dare thank me for caring," she snapped. "Caring's no good unless we fix this, which we're going to, even if I have to blackmail that Skeeter cow until she bleeds Galleons."

The regular thumps from the cabin next door grew louder. Hermione froze. "The engine is all the way down by the Prefects' cabin on the other side of the train."

"Parkinson and Malfoy are having sex," Ginny clarified. "Harry and Ron were too embarrassed to say."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She gestured at Dean's copy of the Prophet. "Right, Malfoy's having sex, because his condition is so delicate he might not even be able to return to Hogwarts."

"Pansy Parkinson is hot for a Slytherin," Seamus said. "I'd shag her if I was in serious but stable condition."

Hermione bared her teeth. "Are you on our side, Seamus, or not?"

"He was talking hypothetical sex, Hermione," Dean said. "You shouldn't hold theory against him." Ginny laughed. Dean squeezed her waist and smiled.

And the subject was closed. Hermione grabbed Dean's Prophet, muttering to herself while circling important bits. The boys talked Quidditch and got in a huge argument about the Irish National Team, which was essentially everyone against Seamus. Malfoy and Parkinson were at it for another five minutes. Ginny studied Harry. Although he laughed and gestured as much as the rest of them, there was a lack of animation to his motions and a vacancy in his gaze. She could tell that Skeeter's article had really gotten to him.

-

Harry walked into the Great Hall and felt the sudden gazes. He exchanged a glance with Hermione.

"It doesn't matter," she whispered. "Just ignore them."

"It's not like I did anything out of the ordinary," he said, taking a step further into the hall. A group of Hufflepuff second years scurried out of his path. "I just beat up Malfoy."

A pretty Ravenclaw girl overheard him. She stared at Harry openmouthed.

"What?" he blinked. "He's just Malfoy."

"Excuse us," Hermione said to the Ravenclaw girl before grabbing Harry by the arm and yanking him toward the Gryffindor table.

"He's not just Malfoy anymore," she hissed when they were out of earshot.

"I don't care how powerful his father is." Harry dropped his voice. "I'm not going to take shit from him."

"And I don't think you should," Hermione whispered. "He's a nasty little brat who's just jealous of you. But I'd feel better if you were more careful."

"Careful how?"

"Just try to stay out of his way, Harry."

"Business as usual, then."

She grabbed his arm to make him look at her. "Don't kid me. You two fight all the time, Harry. There doesn't have to be a reason."

He pried her off gently. "I don't go looking for him, Hermione. And I'm not going to start."

"Besides, he's taller than you." Ron materialized out of the crowd, leaning obnoxiously over Harry's shoulder. "And did I mention the dashing red hair?"

"We weren't talking about you, Ron." Hermione crossed her arms.

"Oh? Who then?" His eyes narrowed. "Not Krum, was it?"

Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation. She walked towards the Gryffindor table. "Come on, Harry, I see two seats. One for you and one for me," she clarified loudly.

"It was Krum," Ron said, aghast, and then started after Hermione. "I can't believe you're still writing to that grumpy—"

Harry tuned them out, following them towards what turned out to be three empty seats at the Gryffindor table. It seemed as if at least half of the Great Hall was focused on him, though with all the students running around, greeting friends, and finding seats, it was hard to distinguish the whispers from the general hubbub. Even at the Dursleys' Harry had never really known what it was to be anonymous. Dudley and his gang singled him out as their favorite punching bag, a kid no one ought to befriend. It didn't matter that they couldn't catch him more often than not; their attention made him different. He hadn't liked it then and he hated it now.

At least the Gryffindors didn't seem to care. Dean, sitting beside Ginny and not Seamus, gave him a wolf whistle of appreciation while a gaggle of fourth years actually stood up and applauded. "Did he cry when you punched him, Harry?" one of them yelled across the table.

"Too busy bleeding," he shot back with a grin. They laughed at that while he turned and noticed Ron and Hermione a little further down. They were obviously still at it: Hermione sat down first, and when Ron tried to sit down next to her, she moved a seat away.

"You don't understand that Krum is a potential threat—" Ron was jabbing in the air with his finger to emphasize his point as Harry sat down between them.

"So," Harry said, more loudly than necessary. "What do you think is for dinner?"

"Anything you could possibly want, you've been at Hogwarts for six years, you know that," Hermione snapped. "But I will have chicken, and you'll have steak and kidney pie like you always do, and Ron will have a little bit of everything because he never did know how to make up his mind."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron said. "I know exactly how I feel about Krum!"

Hermione made an exasperated noise and started drumming her fingers on the table. Harry began to wonder if he wouldn't be better off eating with Ginny and Dean. They seemed happy enough. Dean passed Ginny the butter when she asked for it, and they weren't arguing about it, either.

Harry wondered if he and Cho could have ever been like that. He thought about the Valentine's Day disaster. No, definitely not. Just for old times' sake, he searched her out at the Ravenclaw table and found her, interestingly enough, sitting at the opposite end from Michael Corner. Not that he had wished their relationship ill, but just the same—

"Harry!" Ron's voice broke into his thoughts. "Aren't I good at making decisions?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," he replied, trying to ignore Hermione's withering stare.

"See?" Ron said with a sweeping gesture toward Harry.

"Harry's just trying not to make you feel bad," Hermione said.

"I'm not," Harry said, feeling obligated to back Ron up, even though Hermione did have a point. "Ron's excellent at deciding things."

"There," Ron said triumphantly.

Hermione looked a little betrayed.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts." Dumbledore's voice rang out from his customary perch at the staff table. At once a hush fell over the hall. "If you would lend me your ears for a few moments—I promise I'll give them back—I have just a few words before I unleash you on our most excellent feast."

"You just don't like the food," Ron spat at Hermione, rather illogically, as she tried to hush him.

"Mr. Filch would like for me to remind you that the faculty lounge, lower dungeons, and Forbidden Forest remain off-limits to students. The full list of restricted locations is available, at the student's request, from Mr. Filch." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as if he knew the popularity of this course of action. "On that note, I would like to add that the Forest is forbidden for a very good reason, in that, technically, it is outside the limits of Hogwarts and therefore not subject to our protection."

"We've all heard this before," Ron said, drumming his fingers impatiently.

"And it's sunk in magnificently, too," Hermione said, staring pointedly at Ron.

"Who was tramping around in the forest after Hagrid's little brother last term?" Ron raised an eyebrow, ecstatic at having one-upped Hermione.

"I am trying to listen, Ron," Hermione snapped, leaning across Harry. "Where is Hagrid anyway?"

Harry looked up at the staff table. Always conspicuous, Hagrid was even more so in his absence. His usual chair stood empty next to Professor Sprout.

"Maybe he's still bringing the first years across the lake," Ron said. "You're just trying to change the subject."

"I am not," Hermione said, sitting back in a huff.

"Second, I would like to introduce a new member of the staff. Since Madam Hooch decided to retire at the end of last year, our new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Avery, will also be serving as our Quidditch referee. All scheduling of the Quidditch pitch should go through him."

There was a smattering of polite applause as a good-looking dark-haired man stood from between Snape and Professor Sprout. He raised a hand and grinned. Harry, however, felt a stab of something cold and didn't bother to listen to Dumbledore's next announcement about Quidditch tryouts, which, by all rights, should have interested him.

"Avery?" he said quietly. Hermione and Ron both turned to him looking equally shocked.

"Dumbledore wouldn't allow a Death Eater to teach at Hogwarts," Ron said.

"But the Ministry never repealed Educational Decree Twenty-Two," Hermione hissed, eyes wide. "Dumbledore might not have any control over who's appointed to the staff."

"I'm not a fan, but the Ministry isn't working for," Ron pitched his voice to a whisper, "You-Know-Who."

Harry felt a rush of hatred. "It's working for Malfoy. That's the same thing."

"Maybe you should talk to Dumbledore, Harry," Hermione suggested. "Make sure he knows that an Avery—maybe not this one, but an Avery—is a Death Eater—"

"He knows," Harry cut her off, glancing up at the staff table. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was leaning forward, hand in chin. He seemed to be reasonably attentive to Dumbledore. His robes were black, his hair dark brown—nothing seemed particularly remarkable about him, except that he was seated within a foot of Snape and not bolting for the exit. "It's too much of a coincidence," he said quietly.

Hermione nodded.

"Avery, is it?" Lavender leaned in from across the table, her face flushed. "I heard he played Quidditch for England."

"Well, then he wasn't any good, because we still lost to Transylvania in the fourth round of the World Cup two years ago," Ron replied, casting a suspicious look up at the staff table.

"And to think he was worried about Viktor," Hermione said with a touch of a smile.

"He was a Chaser for Puddlemere United. He quit at the end of last season and no one could figure out why. I guess it was because he wanted to teach us," Parvati added, exchanging an excited glance with Lavender. "I remember his photo from Witch Weekly. He was number three on their most eligible bachelors list last year. Don't you think he looks even better in person?"

Harry supposed the question was rhetorical, because Lavender's answer was obviously "yes," and the only other girl in the area was Hermione, who would rather burn her textbooks than share her opinions on guys with Parvati. He wondered if Hermione even had opinions on guys. Taking a quick look at Ron, he supposed she must.

"He left Hogwarts a few years ago," Lavender whispered. "My sister Luvinia was a seventh year when we were firsties and she used to date Professor Avery's friend Kurt—they were on the Quidditch team together and were a year older than she was—so he has to be in his mid-twenties or something, I don't really want to do the math—"

"Don't worry, it isn't as illegal as you might think, Lavender," Hermione snapped.

Lavender pursed her mouth tight and sat back in her seat with a "humpf."

"Well, welcome back yourself, Granger," Parvati said snippily.

Harry turned his attention back to Dumbledore's speech.

"Finally, I would like to mention that, at the request of numerous students and staff members, Hogwarts will be forming a student chapter of the Society for the Prevention of Evil in the World, also known as—"

"SPEW? Here?" Ron spluttered. "No! But—how did—"

Harry's eyes narrowed. He glared at the Slytherin table. "Malfoy."

-

The Gryffindor table buzzed for the entire meal. Parvati and Lavender continued to giggle about the new professor—who was obviously Death Eater spawn reporting back to the master, if not actually a full-fledged, Dark-Marked Death Eater—but the rest of the Gryffindor table had abandoned that conversation in favor of speculation about the Hogwarts chapter of SPEW, and Ron wasn't one to keep quiet about his views.

"How can Dumbledore allow that scum to take over the school?" Ron fumed. "Lucius Malfoy created SPEW! It's evil! That's all we need to know!"

Dean pounded his fist on the table. "That's right, Malfoy's a known Death Eater—"

"—pretending to create an evil-fighting organization—"

"More like an evil-HELPING organization!"

Even Hermione, ordinarily the voice of reason, cried, "What right does Lucius Malfoy have to bring his—his—thing to Hogwarts? There is only one SPEW at Hogwarts, and that's S.P.E.W., the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare!"

Ron couldn't help grinning at Hermione's display of passion, but the smile fell from his face when he looked at Harry.

Harry was glaring straight across the room, green eyes hard and unwavering as his steak and kidney pie grew cold. Malfoy smirked right back.

"You okay there, mate?" Ron tried.

Harry didn't look away from Malfoy. "I'm fine."

"Okay," Ron said, and returned to his dinner. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Harry not eat and continue to stare at the Slytherin table.

Ron tried to catch Hermione's eye down the table, but she was so far into her tirade that she had her eyes closed. "House-elves of the future will suffer!" she wailed. "Their suffering will be immense if no one knows about the real SPEW!" Ron refrained from mentioning that no one had known about the real SPEW to begin with, and instead kicked Hermione under the table.

"—hundreds of years from YEOW!" Hermione yelled. "Bloody hell—" She caught Ron's shut-up glare but tried to salvage her tirade anyway. "House-elves will still be as oppressed as they are today," she finished, apparently unaware of her lack of audience, and stood up after Ron's example.

"Hey Harry, you ready to head back to the Common Room?" Ron tapped him on the arm.

"What? Yeah, sure," Harry said, and slid his seat back from the table. Thankfully, the rest of the Gryffindor table was so caught up in their discussion of SPEW that nobody commented on Harry's departure.

"You didn't eat anything, mate," Ron commented. "Weren't you hungry?"

"You sound like Hermione," Harry said.

"I would ordinarily let her talk to you about it, but she was so busy whining about her bloody house-elves that she hardly noticed her own dinner, let alone yours."

That made him smile. "Don't tell her this, but I have a feeling a lot more people are going to be interested in the new SPEW than the old one."

"I'm not going to tell her, don't worry."

Hermione met up with them just as they were pushing the doors open. "Tell who what?"

"Weasley's mother, that she's fat." Malfoy was standing in the hallway just in front of the doors.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Ron narrowed his eyes into what he hoped were menacing slits.

"Nothing from you." Malfoy sneered. "I'd like a word with Potter."

Ron stepped in front of Harry. "He's not available."

"What's this, Potter, letting your Weasel talk for you?" Malfoy called over Ron's shoulder, or rather through Ron's shoulder: Ron was pleased to note that he had a height advantage of nearly a foot over Malfoy.

"Harry, he isn't worth it," Hermione said, laying a cautioning hand on Harry's shoulder, to which Ron added, "You don't need to deal with him, Harry, I've got it under control."

Malfoy smirked at that. Ron sneered at Malfoy.

Harry disregarded Ron and Hermione's words. "Malfoy," he acknowledged the scum icily.

"Potter." Malfoy nodded slightly, stepping to Ron's side so he could look Harry in the eye. "What do you think of the new SPEW chapter we're going to have here?"

"Honestly, Malfoy?" Malfoy nodded, so Harry continued, "It kind-of reminds me of you. In the sense that it's nothing but a big load of bullshit."

Instead of getting mad, Malfoy just shrugged. "Pity. I was thinking of asking you to be the Gryffindor section president."

"Gryffindor section president?" Harry repeated, and then spat, "I'd rather barf."

Malfoy grinned. "Don't you mean you'd rather SPEW?"

Hermione crossed her arms. "That wasn't funny."

Malfoy didn't look at her. "Shut up, Granger."

"It really wasn't funny, Malfoy," Harry said calmly, looking down at his hand. He stretched his fingers wide and curled them pensively into a fist. "Sometimes you're amusing in a small, sick sort of way, but that didn't even come close."

Malfoy loosened his tie. "I'm going to beat your head into the floor, Potter. How's that for funny?"

Harry's mouth twitched. "Can't think of a better way to kill me?"

"Don't need to."

"All right, then, give your wand to Ron."

Malfoy and Ron both looked at him. "What?"

"Give your wand to Ron," Harry repeated, taking his own out of his pocket and handing it to Ron, who took it, bewildered. "If you want to fight me, by all means, but we'll do it fair, without magic."

"Harry, don't be stupid," Hermione snapped.

Everyone ignored her. Malfoy crossed his arms. "Why should I play by your rules?"

Harry smirked. "Because if you don't, I won't play."

"I'll make you."

"Give your wand to Ron."

"He'll break it."

"I will," Ron agreed.

"Give it to Hermione, then."

"No Mudblood is going to touch my wand."

"I don't trust you with it," Harry said.

Malfoy smiled, showing all of his teeth. "You trust me without it?"

They stared at each other for a moment and neither one flinched. Then Harry shrugged. "Too bad," he said. "I've wanted to grind your head into the ground for the past—actually, ever since I met you." Very calm, he straightened his tie and turned his back on Malfoy. "Come on, Ron, Hermione. Let's go back up to the Tower."

He started to walk towards the staircase. Unlike Ron and Hermione, his back was to Malfoy and he couldn't see the look on the Slytherin's face.

Malfoy made a running start and threw himself onto Harry's back. He waved his wand in front of Harry's face, then grabbed it with his right hand as well and pulled it tight across Harry's throat. Harry blanched. "There, are you satisfied?" he sneered, still clinging onto Harry's back. "No magic." He gave the wand a violent jerk and the two of them overbalanced and landed in a heap on the ground.

Harry's face was white and he was coughing but he still managed to punch sideways into Malfoy's face. Malfoy rolled to avoid the punch, and Harry scrambled after him, caught hold of his tie, and looped it around his knuckles. He pulled.

Malfoy's face turned red and he spat something on the ground. Harry wrenched the wand out of Malfoy's fist and threw it across the hall. "So, Malfoy," his voice was almost conversational, "can rich boys fight with their hands?"

They both scrambled to their feet, panting. Malfoy grabbed Harry by the hair and pulled him into a headlock, kicking at his legs. Harry seized Malfoy's shirt, balling it in his fists. Malfoy kicked Harry in the kneecap and Harry fell to the floor.

"I'd call you a poor boy," Malfoy hissed, kneeling beside Harry, "but that's only for Weasley."

Ron tried to dive at Malfoy but Hermione was too quick, grabbing his arm and yanking him back. Harry had already grabbed Malfoy's collar and thrown him to the ground. Malfoy tried to roll, but Harry planted a knee on either side of him and slammed his shoulders into the floor.

Malfoy's head cracked against the stone. He yelled and jerked upward, trying to grab Harry. All he could get was Harry's tie, but he took it with both hands. Just as Harry pulled him up to shove him into the floor again, Malfoy yanked on the tie, hard, and the two of them slammed into the floor. Harry pulled up, white and choking, and punched Malfoy hard. His fist came away bloody and Malfoy yanked the tie tighter.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ron turned. It was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Avery, striding out of the Great Hall followed by a scattered group of students. Hermione saw Seamus, Dean, and Ginny as well as Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and a tall, unwashed Slytherin who she vaguely thought was named Theodore Nott. He pulled Harry off Malfoy, who dropped the tie before Avery could see it in his fist.

"Oh, my head," Malfoy moaned from the floor. "Potter just attacked me."

Harry, justifiably furious, lunged at Malfoy. Avery placed a hand on his shoulder and Harry stopped.

"That's a lie," Ron said. "We were here the whole time," he gestured at himself and Hermione, "and that slimy git"—he jabbed Harry's wand at Malfoy—"jumped on Harry first."

"Language, Weasley," Avery said mildly.

"How do you know my name?" Ron said suspiciously.

Avery half-smiled. "I was warned about the four of you. You'd be Mr. Weasley, and then there's Miss Granger, and Mr. Malfoy, and Mr. Potter, of course."

Hermione blinked, but recovered her composure. "Ron's right, though, Professor," she said. "Malfoy did start it."

"Isn't Granger here a little too close to the situation to be impartial?" Malfoy said quickly.

Hermione glared at him, but Malfoy was watching Avery's face.

"You have a point, Mr. Malfoy," Avery said. "Since there are no unbiased witnesses, I will have to go by the school rules. No fighting in the halls. Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, you're both sixth years, I would hope you'd have learned that by now. Detention for both of you."

"But Professor Avery," Malfoy flashed an insincere smile, "shouldn't Weasley and Granger get detention, too? Seeing as they watched the fight and did nothing to prevent it…"

"Ron and Hermione tried to stop me," Harry cut in. "I just didn't listen to them. They shouldn't get detention."

"You can't trust Potter, Professor," Malfoy said. He was still sprawled across the floor.

Avery held up his hands for quiet. "As Mr. Malfoy has already proven, there are no impartial witnesses. I have no credible evidence that Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger encouraged the fight. Therefore, I have to conclude that they've done nothing wrong, and as such, neither of them will receive detentions."

Malfoy scowled.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, I recommend that you remove yourselves from the floor," Avery added, and walked off.

Malfoy clutched at the wall as he began to clamber up. "Oh, my ribs." He faked a moan.

"Let's go back to the Tower," Harry said, and Ron turned to leave, but Malfoy yelled, "Potter!" because the mangy ferret just didn't learn, did he?

"What?" Harry said.

"I'm going to kill you with a fork."

"Just ignore him, Harry," Hermione said, and took his arm to steer him away.

"Potter!" Malfoy yelled again, but Ron stepped between Harry's retreating back and Malfoy. Spending any more time around Malfoy was the last thing Harry needed.