The Burrow.

It was the place Ron called home. The place he had been raised. Where he shared meals with his family, learned to fly a toy broom, and even made friends with his rat, Scabbers.

It was also where his brothers tormented him, where his mother fussed over him, and where his little sister asked him ceaseless questions about his Hogwarts house.

Ron thought he would be happy to escape the school for a few months, but after being stuck with Fred and George since June, he missed the Slytherin dormitories more than he ever thought he would. At least there, he would finally be able to see his friends.

Sadly, when he had tried to meet one of them over the summer, his parents didn't allow it.

" My son? At Lucius Malfoy's? Absolutely not," Ron's father had said firmly. "Nothing against little Druco, of course."

"It's Draco," Ron had muttered.

After being denied for the third time, he gave up, settling to see his friend once school started. Perhaps it would be better that way. Without their parents around, they could do what they pleased — so long as they were careful.

Ron's parents would have his hide if he were expelled, and Ron wouldn't be able to live with himself if he got Draco in trouble.

For months, he counted down the days until he saw his friend again, marking off dates on the calendar in his room. Scabbers would sit on his shoulder, watching intently as the Chudley Cannons zipped around in the image marking each passing month: June, July, August.

Time moved ever so slowly, but in the final days of summer, something worthwhile finally happened.

It was Diagon Alley Day.

The annual trip marked another step closer to his return to Hogwarts — and to seeing his friends.

But naturally, his parents were less thrilled than he was.

For them, it was the most difficult day of the year. They were pressed to stretch their very few Galleons as far as they possibly could, something they never managed to do without complaint.

"How in Merlin's name are we going to afford all of this?" his mother asked as she shuffled through the five school supply lists. "We could barely scrape by to add in Ron, let alone —" She glanced at Ron's younger sister, Ginny, and forced a smile. "Well, we'll just have to make it work, won't we? All right, Ron, you'll be first, then."

Ron, wondering why his parents didn't simply find a way to make more gold, approached the fireplace, dipped his hand in the nearby pot, and dropped the Floo powder with a shout.

"Diagon Alley!"

A rush of emerald flame carried him through the Floo Network, eventually dropping him in the Leaky Cauldron, a dodgy inn that had surprisingly delicious steak-and-kidney pie. His parents, brothers, and sister landed by his side shortly thereafter.

The warm smell inside the inn was bewitching, and considering Fred and George stole all the bacon from his plate that morning, Ron still felt rather hungry. Yet, he knew his parents couldn't afford to feed everyone, so he slumped his shoulders and followed them out of the inn.

His stomach growled in protest.


They shopped for what seemed like hours.

Ron's feet were aching, and to make it worse, his sister had been prodding at him the entire time, anxiously inquiring about what it was like to be in Slytherin.

"Will they like me if I'm Sorted there?" she asked for the umpteenth time. "Do they hate you because our family are Gryffindors?"

"Yeah, they tried cutting off his toe after the Sorting Ceremony, didn't they, Ron?" Fred said with a smirk.

"Was a right bloody mess. Begged us to fix it for him but we don't talk to Slytherins," George added. "Took Madam Pomfrey weeks to patch up."

"That didn't happen!" Percy exclaimed. He flashed his new prefect badge, something he had been showing off whenever he got the chance. "As a new prefect at Hogwarts, it's my responsibility to make it clear such things would never be allowed at the school. If the Slytherins had done that, they'd be in loads of trouble!"

"Not if they Obliviated him," Fred replied airily.

"That's enough!" their mother hissed. "Quit scaring your sister. Ginny, we will be proud of you no matter which house you're in — and we know you'll fit in with the others all the same. Now let's settle down and get to Flourish and Blotts, yes? No more talk of mangled toes."

Fred and George snickered as they followed the crowd through the street. It was a busy day, with several other families shopping for school supplies the same as they were. It was there that Ron saw someone he hoped he wouldn't see.

In the throng of people, Vincent Crabbe waddled by his mother's side.

Ron's first instinct was to hide behind his father.

It was never good form to be spotted with Gryffindors, whether they were his family or not.

Lucky for him, Crabbe was too clueless to notice him. Ron breathed a sigh of relief and tailed his father into Flourish and Blotts, happy to see that Crabbe had been going the other way.

Distracted by the sudden sighting of his friend, Ron bumped right into someone inside the shop. Fortunately, as he looked up, he realized it was just Percy.

"Watch where you're going, Ron. It's rude to run into others like that. God forbid I was a stranger."

They were standing in a giant queue — one far too long to be the checkout line.

It was so crowded Ron couldn't even see what they were waiting for.

". . . and when young Mr. Potter entered Flourish and Blotts today, he didn't know he would not only be receiving a signed copy of my most recent book, Magical Me , but my entire collection — free of charge."

The crowd clapped and roared. Some whistled. Some were screaming. Many, including Ron's mother, were waving in the direction of the voice, shrieking, "Gilderoy Lockhart! Gilderoy, over here!"

"Mum fancies him," George muttered.

Ron's father made a face but quickly cleared his throat and pushed Ron forward.

"C'mon, boys. Let's go get your books." He urged them around the crowd and up the steps to the next level of the shop. "We'll wait til things die down to get everything by that Lockhart bloke."

"What about Gin?" Fred asked.

"Your mother wanted to take her for her books. We'll let her." Their father winked. "Getting yours out of the way should put us a bit ahead of schedule."

Percy peered at his wristwatch. "Father, might I remind you we're already forty minutes behind the schedule I laid out? I have to meet Penelope at —"

Ron heard his father emit a heavy sigh. Percy had been pestering them all since the beginning of summer about two things: his new job as prefect, and his supposed girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater.

Ron wondered if Penelope even knew she was Percy's girlfriend. He couldn't imagine any kind of girl wanting to date his swot of a brother, and especially not if they were sane.

What did they even talk about? The importance of rules? How to make sure one's robes don't wrinkle in any scenario? How many students they could boss around in a single day?

Ron held in a snicker as he imagined Percy flashing his prefect badge at some poor girl, but his humorous thoughts were short-lived.

Something much more important had caught his attention.

". . . can't even walk into a bookshop without making the front page," a familiar voice spat in the distance.

Ron beamed up at his father.

"Dad! Dad!"

"Fred, George, I told you not to — what?" His father frowned down at him, clearly distracted by his brothers' shenanigans. "What is it?"

"Draco's here!" Ron exclaimed. "Can I go speak to him?"

His father seemed unsure for a moment, but eventually, he nodded and patted him on the shoulder.

"Of course, son. Just don't go too far. The witches in this place are mad over this Lockhart fellow. You'd swear he was one of the Weird Sisters . . ."

Ecstatic, Ron made a beeline down the aisle. At the very end, he found his best friend — and two others he was less pleased to see.

Facing Draco were Granger and Potter. Their faces were pulled into the hideous scowls they always seemed to wear, and Ron couldn't help but wonder how they could be so miserable. Everything went their way at Hogwarts, yet still, they never seemed happy.

Suddenly, a man passed Ron by, expensive robes sweeping behind him and the sound of his cane meeting the carpet. The man parked behind Draco and put a hand on his shoulder.

His hair matched Draco's perfectly, and that was when Ron realized it must have been his father.

He certainly didn't look like the menace Ron's father claimed he was.

"Now, now, Draco, play nicely," the man drawled.

Ron frowned and made his way towards them. Lucius plucked a book out of Granger's cauldron and began talking to her and Potter, his mouth pulled into a polite smile. Draco shifted nervously — almost as though he were in trouble.

Ron hoped that was not the case.

Potter and the swot deserved whatever they got after the House Cup debacle.

"Hey," Ron breathed, stopping beside Draco. The other boy seemed surprised to see him, but Ron figured they could talk more once the worst of the Gryffindorks left. Ron jerked his head towards them. "What do they want?"

"None of your business, Weasley," Potter growled.

Lucius's smile had morphed into something tight and unwelcoming rather than the friendly sort he had been wearing just seconds before. "Yes, we were just having a nice little chat, weren't we?"

Potter and Granger continued to glare.

"Well, I do hope you both enjoy the upcoming year," Lucius continued, dropping the book back into Granger's cauldron. "It's good to see your parents were able to find the currency exchange, Miss Granger. I know some Muggles struggle with such things."

"I have a feeling you don't know much at all about Muggles," Granger sneered scornfully.

"Perhaps you'd be right."

"C'mon Harry," the swot muttered. "Let's get out of here."

The two of them turned on their heels and stormed out of Flourish and Blotts.

"Bloody Potter," Draco muttered. He glanced at Ron. "Glad you were here to see all that. At least someone will be on my side."

"Always, mate. He's a git."

"Fame can be poison, boys. Unfortunately, not all that are gifted with it know how to use it wisely." Lucius craned his neck and reached out to shake Ron's hand. "You must be Arthur Weasley's son. Ronald, is it?"

Ron went red in the face, remembering that his father and Lucius did not particularly like one another.

"Yes, he's here with my brothers," Ron replied weakly, noting the man's firm grip. "That's my mum, there, and my sister, Ginny."

Lucius nodded. "Draco's told me all about you. It's good to have someone from such an old wizarding family in Slytherin House. I'm sure Severus was delighted when the Sorting Hat made the announcement?"

"Er — I-I don't really know."

He decided to leave out the part where he was too disgusted with himself to pay any attention to the professors. For years, he had been taught Gryffindor was the best house, and in a single moment, the possibility of being in it was robbed from him.

Over time, he learned Slytherin was clearly better.

He almost felt bad for his brothers — or he would if their house didn't cheat their way into winning the House Cup.

"Ah, Arthur, lovely to see you."

Ron felt his face drain of all color as he whipped around to see his father, muttering something to his three brothers. Lucius had greeted him kindly, but Ron had a feeling it was going to end badly.

"Lucius," his father replied, his tone stilted. "What a surprise."

"Yes, a rather happy one. Ronald here was just joining Draco and myself." Lucius glanced at the tattered books tucked under Fred and George's arms. "I actually am set to make a donation to less fortunate wizarding families later in the week. Perhaps I could extend that charity to your family, as it looks as though your boys could use nicer books."

Ron's father had gone cherry-red.

"My sons are just fine," he said stubbornly. "They've got all the books they need."

Percy drew his eyebrows together.

"Are you mad?" he hissed to his father. "We're barely going to be able to afford these and they're falling apart at the spine."

Ron wanted to crawl into a hole.

Not only was his friend seeing just how poor he was, but his father was offering to pay for their school supplies because Ron's own father couldn't. He wanted nicer books, of course, yet he wasn't sure he wanted Draco to know as much.

"Very well, then," Lucius replied, making a movement to step in front of Ron and Draco. "Ron here was telling me your daughter is off to Hogwarts as well. Is she your youngest or are there more of the Weasley clan to come?"

It was with these words that Ron saw Lucius reach into his billowing robes. It was a subtle gesture — one he assumed his father didn't see. When he pulled his hand back out, Ron held in a gasp.

Galleons.

However many there were, Ron didn't know, but he knew he had only ever seen one person with a handful of Galleons like that, and that person had just left the shop with his frizzy-headed guard dog.

Draco nudged him and raised his eyebrows.

Was he to take them?

Ron shook his head at Draco as their fathers continued talking about Merlin-knew-what, but eventually, Draco seized the Galleons for him and shoved them right into Ron's pocket.

There had to be ten of them. At least .

They were heavy.

"Well, Draco and myself must be going, unfortunately." Lucius patted Ron on the shoulder. "I hope you have a wonderful school-year, Ronald. And do be careful. The castle can be dangerous at times."

"I-I will," Ron stammered, still shocked by the new weight in his pocket. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

"No need for formalities, Mr. Weasley. You may call me Lucius." He gave Arthur a curt nod. "Arthur."

Ron's father, rudely, did not respond.

"Hmph," Lucius said, though the sound was barely there. "Come, Draco. We must be getting to Twilling and Tattings before they close."

"Yeah, all right," Draco said. He turned back to Ron. "See you at school, yeah?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, see you at school."

Draco then followed his father down the steps, leaving Ron rather confused — and richer than he'd ever been.

"That Lucius Malfoy is quite a piece of work," Ron's father grumbled. He looked down at Ron. "Something the matter, son?"

Ron shook his head. Nothing was the matter — but nothing made sense either.


Potter and Granger earned detention before classes even started.

They missed the Sorting Ceremony — during which Ginny happily joined the Gryffindorks — only to drive a Muggle car into the Whomping Willow early the next morning.

While Ron wasn't very familiar with cars, he was pretty sure they weren't supposed to be driven into trees.

Over the summer, his father bewitched a Ford Anglia to fly, which was far too tempting for his brothers, and when they returned from what they called a "joy ride," his mother listed the many reasons it was dangerous.

The three she seemed most worried about were that they "could've been seen!", they "could've died!", and they "could've run into something!"

Ron didn't often agree with her, but after seeing the car Potter and the swot destroyed, he could see her point.

"They should've been expelled," Pansy groused, kicking a rock across the courtyard. "Daphne said Parvati told Padma the only reason they got off was because McGonagall gave them a pass."

"Which is a load of dragon dung," Goyle pointed out. "If one of us did that, Snape'd send us off in a bloody second."

"Snape wanted to send them off," Draco cut in, plopping down on the bench he had long claimed as his. "Why do you think he was so moody that day?"

Ron sat beside him, earning a jealous glare from Pansy. She made a motion for Draco to scoot over to make room for her, which he quickly did.

Ron frowned.

"That's not even the worst of it," quipped Zacharias Smith, a haughty Hufflepuff boy that often tagged along with them during their courtyard chats. He jerked his head towards the other Hufflepuff beside him. "Tell them what you told me, Justin."

The dark-haired boy leaned in. "So I was telling Zacharias that the whole possibly ruining the Whomping Willow thing? That wasn't even so bad. It's illegal for kids our age to drive cars under Muggle law. The police would've been after them the minute they saw them." He shook his head slowly. "It was a huge risk. Could've given away everyone in the Wizarding World."

"Are you serious?" Draco asked. "They coud've broken the Statute of Secrecy?"

Justin nodded, his expression grave.

"And all Potter's getting is some time polishing trophies?" Draco asked angrily. "This school really is pathetic."

"Don't forget Granger," Pansy added. "She's getting to spend all her time in the library, which we all know she'd do whether she was in detention or not. It's basically a holiday for her."

"It's blatant favoritism is what it is," Draco said venomously.

"Next thing you know, they'll be given house points for it," Ron muttered.

"I'd like to see McGonagall try. My father is on the Board of Governors and he's prepared for the tricks to come up again this year. I daresay if Dumbledore pulls what he did before, he might lose his job."

Ron smirked. "Hell, maybe we should put him under the Imperius and have him do it, then. The sooner that old kook is out, the better."

Draco snickered.

"Good one, Weasley."

Ron beamed. It was the first time he'd smiled all day.


"He's so handsome ," Daphne breathed.

"He's so brave ," Tracey sighed. "Did you hear about what he did to that werewolf ?"

"He's a ponce!" Ron exclaimed, drawing his brows together. "He couldn't even keep his story straight! First he spoke Romanian, then he needed a translator? Am I the only one that caught that?"

"I noticed too," Nott said, his tone bored.

"See! I told you I'm not bonkers!" Ron said, gesturing at the girls. "How do you not see he's completely mental?"

"He is not," Pansy hissed.

"Don't tell me you fancy him too ?"

"Of course not," she said, waving him off. "I'm betrothed to Draco. But he's not lying. I read all about him in Witch Weekly. Did you know he killed a manticore with his bare hands?"

"Oh, come on, you can't actually believe that!"

"She can, she does, and she will," Nott said evenly. "Best not to waste your breath, Weasley. They won't change their minds."

Ron scowled. He knew Gilderoy Lockhart was a fraud, and if he could help it, the whole school would know it by the end of the year.


"Ron. Ron. WEASLEY!"

Ron awoke to someone shaking him. Groggy, he opened his eyes, confused by the mass of snow white that was shouting at him.

"Merlin, get up, you lazy git," the familiar voice growled, tugging the covers off of him.

The shock of cold pulled Ron into reality.

"Wazzgoinon?"

"Big news," Draco said. "My father has made a little donation to Slytherin House."

"A donation?" Ron asked, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. "What kind of donation?"

Draco smirked. "The kind that'll guarantee us a spot on the Quidditch team."


Ron didn't think he would ever be on the Quidditch team, but he had to admit, never had he been prouder than the moment he hit his first Bludger.

While he was partial to the idea of being Keeper, the position was taken up by Jedidah Bunker, forcing Ron to take one of the only available slots. Draco claimed the Seeker role, so Ron didn't even bother asking.

He didn't mind, though. There was something satisfying about using that little bat.

If only the Gryffindorks hadn't ruined it.

Oliver Wood marched onto the pitch, demanding to know why the Slytherins were practicing. When Flint explained it was so they could train their new teammates, Wood had all kinds of questions, and Potter only made it worse with his usual attitude.

"Nimbus 2001s?" Potter had exclaimed, the swot behind him even though she wasn't even on the team.

He never went anywhere without her. Ron wondered if the joke had become reality and she really was his girlfriend now.

"They were a gift from Draco's father," Flint explained. "Slytherin House is grateful for his contribution."

" For the whole team?" Potter looked up at Wood, incredulous. "So they get to practice today just because Malfoy's dad bribed the school? How's that fair?"

"How's it fair you got in as a first year just because your parents got killed?" Ron asked.

The entire Slytherin team howled with laughter.

Fred and George, dressed in scarlet and gold, gawked at him. Ron blushed under their gaze, but he felt cold as they immediately looked away. Despite the red hair signifying their relation, the twins were trying to act like they didn't know him.

And maybe they didn't.

"Harry got in on pure talent!" Granger exclaimed, glaring at Ron. "Unlike some , he didn't have to have his rich friends buy his way on."

Ron noticed how his brothers' faces fell at her comment, but that was hardly the end of it.

Draco, fuming, stalked towards her, poison in his expression. Ron knew whatever he said next would be bad, but never did he expect him to utter what he did.

"Nobody asked for your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood."

She clenched her jaw.

Potter furrowed his brow, clearly unsure what the word even meant. Fred and George were trying to wrestle past Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet. Wood's jaw was agape.

Draco had gone too far, and it was on Ron's behalf.

"What does that mean?" Potter asked.

"It's a right nasty word," Wood said. "No decent wizard would ever use it, that's for certain."

Draco's eyes were wide, darting around as he tried to assess the situation. Even the Slytherins seemed appalled he had said the word, and Ron had a feeling he thought it would be more well-received than it was.

Flint jerked his head away from the crowd.

"Wood, a word."

The Gryffindor Keeper hesitated, but nodded, eventually.

After a few minutes, they returned. Apparently, they made an agreement.

The Gryffindors got their time on the pitch, and Draco's little insult wouldn't be raised to McGonagall. At the time, Ron thought it was a pretty decent bargain, but Draco seemed genuinely confused by it.

For the rest of the day, his unlikely friend obsessed over the decision, perplexed by the fact "the truth" could cause such trouble.

By the end of the evening, Ron wasn't so sure it made sense either. After all, Draco was right: Hermione Granger, no matter how anyone looked at it, was a Mudblood.


"Did you hear about Filch's cat?" Pansy asked, wedging herself between Ron and Draco.

Earlier that day, the two boys made it clear to her that they'd be studying and preferred not to be bothered. Apparently, she hadn't thought they were serious.

Ron hated how she was always butting in lately.

"No, we haven't heard about Filch's cat, " he muttered, hoping she would hear the venom in his tone. "We've been here all day. Like we said we'd be."

"Right . . . Well, the news is all around the school. I thought maybe someone came down to the common room with it. Guess not." She examined her nails. "Anyway, turns out the stupid cat is even uglier when it's Petrified. Who knew?"

"Someone Petrified it?" Draco asked incredulously.

A smirk stretched across Pansy's face. "Yes. Rumor has it Potter and Granger did it. They were there first."

"The Scarhead and the swot?" Ron cut in. "So they're off Petrifying stuff now? Please tell me they actually got in trouble."

"McGonagall dragged them off. Not before I got to needle them a bit for Granger being a Mudblood, though."

Draco groaned and put down his quill. "You called her a Mudblood? To her face?"

Pansy beamed. "It was hilarious , Draco. Potter got his feathers ruffled, but McGonagall disarmed him before he could do anything about it. And you should've seen the look on Granger! Would've swore I hit her with a jinx!"

"Don't do that again," Draco said firmly. "She probably told McGonagall and you know the old bat will dock points from us any chance she gets."

"But you said it," Pansy huffed, crossing her arms.

"Yes, and we had to forfeit the Quidditch pitch to keep them quiet. Apparently, it's not considered good form to use that word here, so I'd appreciate it if you keep that kind of language in the common room. The whole house would." Draco closed his book and stood up, ignoring the way she pouted as he drew away from her. "We need to win the Cup this year, and if Potter is out Petrifying people, we might actually stand a chance. Come on, Weasley. I'm hungry."

Ron smirked. Not only did Draco want to spend time with him over Parkinson, but he also had given all of Slytherin hope — hope that they might win the House Cup, in spite of the odds.


Ron chased after the Bludger.

He had been trying to bash the iron ball towards Katie Bell for nearly ten minutes, but it dove away from him each time he approached it, moving in a manner that was entirely unnatural. It was almost like the ruddy thing was avoiding he and Derrick on purpose, giving Gryffindor the edge they would need to win.

Jealous of the Slytherins' new broomsticks, the Gryffindors had resorted to spellwork.

"This is dragonshit!" Flint roared as he darted by. "They're cheating!"

"Hooch won't call it!" Derrick shouted back. "I've signaled her a half-dozen times! She's not doing anything!"

Draco circled them, a devious grin on his face. It was obvious that he had seen the Snitch, and it wouldn't be long before Potter would catch on.

Ron exchanged excited glances with Derrick. With Draco well in the lead on the Snitch, there was a chance they could still win.

The Gryffindorks would die from the embarrassment.

Ron had to help.

He zipped towards the other Bludger, hoping they had not had the sense to charm them both. Alas, as he crossed the pitch, he noticed something strange.

Potter was racing towards Draco, and just behind him was the Bludger.

Ron frowned. He'd been certain the Bludger was charmed to favor the Gryffindor team, but as he watched it follow Potter, he was starting to have doubts. Potter passed Derrick and Flint, both of which the Bludger dodged.

It chased the Scarhead instead.

Fred and George quickly made their way towards their Seeker, completely ignoring Montague who scored twice in a row. Apparently, Wood was too distracted by Potter to properly block the hoops, and Fred and George seemed more worried about his safety than the score.

Though, if Potter caught the Snitch, they would win anyway.

"Fred! George! Get it!" Katie screamed. "Before it knocks him off his broom!"

One of the twins — Ron couldn't tell which — sprung into action. With his bat in hand, either Fred or George knocked the Bludger away from Potter, proving the Bludger could be hit under the right circumstances.

But it didn't matter.

The Bludger immediately dropped, rushing after Potter at full speed. Potter glanced behind him, obviously aware he was its target, but seemingly confused about it.

As he started weaving through the spectator stands, the Bludger followed — and Montague scored two more goals.

"Slytherin scores again," Lee Jordan, a friend of the twins, announced. He sounded obviously put off by it. "If it weren't for their cheating with that Bludger, there's no way they'd have gotten those past Wood."

"Mr. Jordan!" Ron heard McGonagall scold.

Draco ripped through the bottom of one of the grandstands, deaf to the naysaying of the commentator. His hand was outstretched.

"Malfoy sees the Snitch!" Lee said, his voice seemingly in a panic. "Oh! But there's Potter!"

Ron's heart pumped as he watched his friend grab for the elusive winged ball, Potter hot on his trail. There was nothing else Ron could do. After all, the Bludger was doing his job for him.

Then, it happened.

Potter sped along Draco's side, crashing into him every chance he got. Draco flew into the edge of the pitch, crashing into one of the grandstands and plummeting to the ground, howling in pain the entire way down. Fortunately, it wasn't a far fall, but there was no doubt he was injured. Hooch ran to his side.

Potter didn't stop.

The Bludger chased him as his hand reached for the Snitch. He did not seem fazed by Montague scoring for the fifth time. He did not seem fazed by the Bludger. He did not even seem fazed by the fact that Hooch was shouting.

Then, the Bludger caught up with him.

It hit his left arm dead on, sending him tumbling to the ground a few meters away from Draco. Hooch rushed to his side as both the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams landed, unsure what they were supposed to do with both Seekers out of the race.

As Ron and his teammates surrounded a bruised and battered Draco, the announcement rung in their ears.

"Potter has the Snitch! Gryffindor wins! Oi — but he'll be headed to the hospital wing. Looks like Malfoy might be too . . . Merlin's sack!"

McGonagall audibly scolded Lee. Nobody was paying any attention to his language, though. They were far too focused on the Bludger that continued to try and hit Potter. It only stopped when Snape stepped in and uttered a spell Ron didn't hear.

Within seconds, Lockhart and McGonagall were scurrying across the pitch to the Golden Boy. The last thing Ron heard was their bickering as he, Snape, and Flint helped Draco back to the castle.

He was just as injured as Potter, but of course, the crowd didn't care.

Potter was much more precious to them — and it made Ron sick.


"That idiot Lockhart deboned his arm," Draco muttered, cutting into his morning toast. "So of course, Pomfrey was too distracted to even get me a potion for the pain. Slept like a baby once I finally got some, though. Only took twenty minutes of yelling for her."

"My father drinks that stuff by the jug," Crabbe quipped. "How was it?"

"No idea. I slept so long, the pain was back once I woke up this morning. That's when I saw the Mud —" He glanced at Flint, who was glaring at him. " Ahem , the Muggle-born git. Not sure when he came in, but it must've been in the middle of the night."

"My dad says the good stuff makes you sleep loads," Crabbe breathed. "So you got the good stuff, then?"

"Guess so," Draco replied, cutting another small square of toast.

"Wicked. . ."

"Did you hear what happened to him?" Blaise asked, ignoring Crabbe. "The Muggle-born."

Draco shook his head. "Pomfrey rushed me out before I heard any details."

"But he was definitely Petrified?" Ron inquired.

On his plate was a pile of kippers, but Draco's news was more interesting than breakfast.

"Definitely," Draco answered. "But Pomfrey wasn't going to let Potter out of her sight, which means —"

"He can't be the one doing it," Ron deduced.

"Could be Granger," Blaise pointed out. "She's smart enough to know the spell."

"Oh, please ," scoffed Draco. "As if she'd take a risk like that. Especially after that stunt at the beginning of the year."

Blaise shrugged. "No idea, then, mate. That's who was found at the scene. Her and Potter."

Frowning, Draco cut his toast again. The mystery was troubling him — and it was troubling Ron too.


"It's too dangerous."

Pansy towered over Ron and Draco, her arms folded and a severe look on her face. The two boys had been chattering excitedly about the new Dueling Club when she came into the common room, a sudden fury in the way she stalked towards them.

To Ron, she looked a bit like McGonagall.

"Every great wizard can duel, Pansy," Draco said. "You should join too. My mother's a fine duelist. I suspect yours is too."

"I don't care," Pansy snapped. "No dueling until we're married."

"That's ridiculous," Draco hissed. "We can't get married for another five years."

"Which means you won't be dueling for another five years."

"You can't make that decision. Pre-marital requests aren't in the dowry."

Her eyes darted towards Ron. "Ronald, could you give Draco and I a moment? Clearly, we need to have a discussion."

Ron didn't move.

"Alone."

Never had Ron hated Pansy Parkinson more, but she spoke with an authority that drove him to begrudgingly drag his feet to the boys' dormitory.

As he sat down on the bed, he wondered why he had listened to her. She wasn't going to be his wife, and if wives acted like that , he wasn't sure he ever wanted one.


Almost everyone that was a second-year or above joined the Dueling Club. It took Draco three days to calm Pansy down once she found out he signed up against her wishes, but in the end, she decided to sign up too.

"Maybe Snape will let me hex Granger's hair off," she said with a smirk, settling into the crowd. "Or make those awful teeth of hers even bigger. Can you imagine how she'd look? They're already huge."

Ron ignored her, listening closely as Snape and Lockhart explained disarming in full. The two professors then had a short duel that Snape easily won, but Lockhart insisted it was only because he didn't try. Pansy chattered through the entire fight.

Lockhart interrupted her rambling to pair her with a Hufflepuff named Susan Bones.

Granger was paired with Millicent Bulstrode, which Ron hated to admit would end poorly for Millicent. As much as he loathed the swot, her spellwork was hard to match.

Ron ended up with Ernie Macmillan. He didn't particularly want to duel Ernie, since he had always been something of a friend. Perhaps, they could agree to go easy on each other.

"Potter! Malfoy!" Lockhart boomed, wrapping an arm around Potter's shoulders. He leaned in and whispered something in the Scarhead's ear.

Potter did not seem pleased about it.

Draco approached Potter and the professor, a smirk on his face. Ron couldn't help but feel a bit jealous. Everyone in Slytherin wanted to duel Potter, and of course it was Draco who would have the honor.

At least Potter would lose. Really, that was all that mattered.

"Disarming only!" Lockhart announced, pacing alongside the makeshift stage. "If I see any other spells cast — any jinxes, hexes, or worse — I will put you in detention." He chuckled. "If only I could've put that vampire in detention in '88. That would've made my job a lot easier . . ."

Snape let out a heavy sigh. "Potter. Malfoy. Please make your way up onto the stage."

The entire crowd went silent.

The duel they had all wanted to see was the very first they would witness.

Draco and Potter made their ways to opposite ends of the makeshift stage before stepping up onto it and drawing their wands. Snape settled behind Draco, and Lockhart behind Potter.

It was clear which side each professor had chosen.

"On three, you will begin your duel. Remember: disarming only!" Lockhart said. "Three. Two. One. Go!"

Lockhart whistled and Potter shot a spell at Draco.

"Expelliarmus!"

Draco easily blocked the spell.

"Expelliarmus!" Potter repeated, this time his tone much more annoyed.

Again, Draco easily blocked it.

The rage in Potter's face was obvious, even from afar.

He raised his wand again, the movement quite different than before. Draco saw what Ron saw: that Gryffindor's Golden Boy was preparing to cast a new spell — something that exceeded a simple defense.

"Rictusempra!" Draco shouted.

He had beaten Potter at his own game. The Scarhead was clutching his side, assuaged by the sudden tickling sensation. The crowd roared with laughter.

"L-Locomotor Wibbly!" Potter yelled.

Draco dodged the spell, but his mouth turned downward into a sneer. A wave of rage was emanating from him, and Ron couldn't blame him. The Jelly-Legs Curse was a nasty spell.

"Boys!" Lockhart exclaimed. "Disarm only!"

Draco didn't listen.

He slashed his wand through the air and screamed, "Serpensortia!"

A large black cobra emerged from Draco's wand, landing on the makeshift stage. It slithered across, stopping to examine the large crowd of onlookers.

It stopped in front of Granger and hissed at her.

"Does he know how to control that spell?" Ernie asked Ron.

Ron's eyes were wide. "I have no idea."

"Watch out, boys," Lockhart said, pushing past them. "I'll take care of this."

He pointed his wand at the snake and muttered something unintelligible. Suddenly, the creature was flung into the air, only to land back on the stage — directly in front of Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Snape scowled and began marching towards the scene, his wand at the ready.

Alas, he never had the chance to use it.

Potter was creeping towards the snake, hissing words falling from his lips. Gasps filled the air. Pansy let out a scream. Lavender Brown sounded as though she were going to hyperventilate.

Harry Potter was a Parselmouth, and now the entire school knew it.


The Hufflepuffs made it a point to avoid Potter, and Ron could not blame them. If Snape hadn't stepped in, Potter could have set the cobra on Justin.

"I wish my parents sent me home this year," Zacharias Smith said, wiping away the snow from a bench in the courtyard. "A whole holiday with him ? Look, nothing against Slytherins or anything, but since the Heir of Slytherin is apparently Petrifying people, I want nothing to do with whoever it is. And after that little stunt? Ten Galleons it's Potter."

"But it couldn't be," Ron said, frowning. "Draco was in the hospital wing the night that Creevey kid was brought in. Potter was there."

"But he fell asleep," Blaise pointed out. "Who's to say Potter didn't sneak off then? Pomfrey has to sleep too. He easily could've."

Ron furrowed his brow.

Perhaps Potter wasn't innocent after all.


"It's not him," Draco grumbled, rifling through his schoolbag. After a moment, he pulled out a sugar quill and put the tip in his mouth. "It can't be."

"You slept, though, right?" Ron said. "So he could've snuck off while you were out of it, yeah? And if he's doing this, he needs to be expelled. Probably needs tossed in Azkaban too!"

Draco appeared to be mulling it over. After a moment, he shook his head.

"It's not him."

"Any idea who it is, then?" Goyle asked, suddenly. "Kind of amazing what they're trying to do, if you think about it. Taking out the Mudbloods."

Draco sucked on his sugar quill, his brow crinkled in thought.

But he didn't say a word.


Millicent and Goyle bolstered into the common room, plopping down onto the sofa opposite Ron and Draco. Ron glanced up from his essay.

"Since when do you wear glasses?" he asked.

Goyle quickly removed the eyewear in question. "F-for reading."

"You read?" drawled Draco, not bothering to look up from his Potions book. "Guess the surprises are never-ending."

"Surprises? What d'you mean surprises ?"

"Other than the fact you can read? Well, for starters, everyone thinks Potter is the Heir of Slytherin. Bloody Potter."

"All because he can talk to a fake snake," added Ron.

"So it's not him?" Goyle blurted. "You're sure?"

Millicent elbowed him. Goyle had always been a bit of a dolt — and Millicent wasn't very bright either — but Ron had never seen the two of them acting so strangely before.

Something was off about them, and Ron didn't like it.

"He can't be the Heir . I told you that," said Draco. "Remember? He was in the hospital wing with me when that stupid first-year was found? I swear you never listen to a word I say."

"Sorry, he just — he just forgot," Millicent cut in. She cleared her throat. "But you must have some idea of who it is then, right? A theory?"

Draco glanced up at her. "I already told you I don't have a clue. If I did, I'd tell you."

Goyle swore under his breath.

"Is there something you two idiots wanted?" Ron interrupted. "If you didn't notice, we're trying to get some work done."

The two of them exchanged looks. Millicent mouthed something at Goyle, but Ron could not make out what it was.

"No, sorry," she hastily replied. "Actually, we forgot something in the Great Hall. We'll be back in a bit."

The two of them scrambled towards the grand double-doors, only to stop at the sound of Draco's voice.

"You know, the last time this all happened, a Mudblood was killed." He smirked. "So if you see Granger in the corridor, I'd pretend you didn't see anything if I were you. She might be much more than Petrified."

Millicent and Goyle froze and turned to face him.

Their eyes were wide — and so were Ron's.


Granger was alive and well.

Although Ron detested her, he found this to be a relief, just like the months that followed without any more attacks. Professor Sprout was proud to report the Mandrakes would be ready to heal the victims soon, and despite Draco's insistence that the attacks weren't over, Ron was starting to feel more comfortable as he walked around the castle.

He did not quite understand why his friend wanted there to be danger. Whenever Ron asked him, Draco would merely say, "Your family would have to be Slytherin for you to understand."

Ron, coming from a family of Gryffindors, came to terms with the fact that he may never relate to his friend — not fully, at least.

This became even clearer when it was time to sign up for classes.

"Care of Magical Creatures?" Draco scoffed. "What a waste of time. That's what handlers are for."

"Might not be all bad, though," Ron said carefully. "We might learn about dragons or something."

"Dragons?" Draco asked, seeming alarmed. "You think there'll be dragons ?"

Ron shrugged. "Could be."

Draco muttered something under his breath and continued to mark the rest of the courses he wanted to take. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were on his list — something that caused a strange sense of panic to swell in Ron's chest.

He wasn't taking those classes.

He and Draco always shared the same classes.

"Are you sure you want to take Ancient Runes and Arithmancy?" Ron asked, hurriedly. "That's a lot of classes. Not sure you'll even have time in the day for all of them."

Draco smirked. "Snape said he could make arrangements for me if I wanted to take some extra courses. Nine classes might just be the thing to blow past Granger." He frowned. "My father would like my marks to improve."

"But you're almost the best in our year," Ron pointed out, furrowing his brow. "I-I mean I try to keep up with you, but you're brilliant, mate. There's just no managing it."

"Yeah well, I'm still not the best in our year, am I?" he said sourly. "That honor lies with the swot herself."

"She probably just charms whole pages of our books into her brain, though, mate. She's a freak, really."

"Freak or not, it's time to knock her off her pedestal, and beating her at her own game will do just that." Suddenly, Draco's face brightened. "Speaking of the Gryffindorks, ready to see the Hufflepuffs pummel them tomorrow?"

Ron grinned. There was nothing that would cheer him up more.


Excited, Ron walked down to the pitch with Draco, doing his best to ignore Pansy's babbling that came from behind them. She never stopped talking, even when Draco obviously wasn't interested in whatever it was that she was saying.

"Gryffindor's odds are awful," Draco said, shaking his head. "No offense, but your brothers just aren't as good as —"

Suddenly, Flitwick was rushing towards them, making wild gesticulations with his hands. The crowd that had already made it to the pitch was racing down the steps to the bleachers, some screaming, some complaining, and some, such as Lavender Brown, were actually crying.

Ron furrowed his brow. "What's going on?"

"Match is canceled," Theodore Nott drawled, a sandwich in his hand. He took a large bite. "Two more people've been Petrified."

"What?" Ron asked incredulously. He and Draco turned around, falling into step beside Nott. "But I thought —"

He clammed up, realizing that Draco would be upset if he knew Ron hadn't believed his many claims about Muggle-borns and the Chamber of Secrets and whatever else it was that he had been rambling on about for months.

"Was one of them Granger?" Pansy asked, chasing after them. "Please tell me it was!"

"It wasn't. She was in the stands," Nott muttered. "Rumor has it, one was Longbottom and the other was some girl in —"

Before Nott could finish his sentence, Percy pushed his way through the throng of students, sobbing in between shouts of, "Watch out! Out of the way! My girlfriend's the one who's been Petrified! "

Ron paled.

He had spent an entire summer hearing about Penelope Clearwater — and now she had joined the list of victims.


The Slytherin boys' dormitory was much more lively than usual.

Everyone was there in the evenings as per the new requirements, watched from morning to night by both prefects and professors. Many of the boys suspected Flint would let them leave if they really wanted to, but he was yet to budge on the guidelines.

"Come on, Flint!" Crabbe groused. "I wanna be there when they finally kill the Mudblood!"

"Shut your fucking mouth, Crabbe," Flint ordered, leafing through the Daily Prophet . "The last thing we need is for everyone to think we're the anti-Mudblood house."

"But we are the anti-Mudblood house," Goyle retorted.

"All the more reason to keep our noses clean," Flint said, gritting his teeth. "They'll start poking around thinking one of us is doing it, and unless you want someone to find your collection of magazines with Muggle lady underpants, I think it's best nobody comes snooping around Slytherin. Eyes are already on us as it is."

Ron, who was letting Scabbers play on the floor, glanced up at Draco.

"You reckon it's a Slytherin doing all this?"

Draco shrugged. "Haven't noticed anyone going absent, but there haven't been any more Petrifications either. Slytherin families tend to stay in Slytherin. Unlikely the Heir of Salazar would be anyone but one of us."

Ron bit his lip. "You don't think — you don't think the Heir would hurt us , d'you?"

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Of course not. We're pure-bloods."


The Great Hall, much like the boys' dormitory, was much louder than usual. It was the one time of day that people saw their friends from other houses, and everyone was taking advantage of it.

Then there was, of course, the spreading rumors.

"You notice the giant's gone?" Draco said, stabbing a tomato. "And Dumbledore?"

"Yeah, they've both been out for a couple days now," Ron replied. He immediately recognized the look on his friend's face. "You know something."

Draco's smirk grew. "Let's just say my father is on the Board of Governors. He gave the Minister for Magic a bit of information and I doubt we'll be seeing them back. Either of them."

"What information?" Blaise butted in. "Getting rid of Dumbledore would take something quite serious, I think."

"You know why the giant was expelled, right?"

Blaise shook his head.

"The claim was he opened the Chamber of Secrets before," Draco said nonchalantly. "Parents weren't exactly happy Dumbledore let him stay on the grounds. But it's all rubbish, obviously. The idiot couldn't open the Chamber even if his brain suddenly doubled in size."

"Does your father know who actually did it, then?" Goyle inquired.

"No, all he knows is that the oaf is a scapegoat."

"What's a scapegoat?" asked Crabbe.

"Someone that takes the blame for someone else," Ron answered, recalling the definition from when he asked Draco the same question weeks before. "Who was he taking the blame for?"

"Beats me — but there's no way he's able to open the Chamber. He can barely find his own ass, let alone Salazar's Slytherin's secret place."

"And you still have no idea who it actually is?" Blaise asked, something accusatory in his tone.

"If I did, I'd certainly be talking to them and not you ," Draco said sourly. "Whoever it is, I hope they're getting ready to make a move." He glanced at the Gryffindor table. "It's about time the swot learns her lesson."

"What lesson?" Crabbe asked stupidly.

Draco glared at him.

"That there's a place for Mudbloods — and it's not in the Wizarding World."


The common room was abuzz. After weeks of being stuck both there and in the dormitories, Slytherin House had been itching for news — especially news that might mean they could roam the castle.

Alas, when they received just that, there were more questions than there were answers.

"Wait, what's he mean by 'thanks to our most favorite member of Gryffindor'?" Pansy hissed. "You don't think —"

"He could mean McGonagall or something," Ron reasoned.

" Or Potter," Draco muttered, voicing everyone's concerns.

"Settle down," Snape ordered, his voice loud but monotone as always. "Your questions will be answered during the feast tomorrow." His beady black eyes darted to Ron and his mouth turned down in a sneer. "Those of us with friends in Gryffindor House should be prepared to congratulate them . . . If my expectations come to fruition."

He turned on his heel and left the common room, deaf to the sound of cursing students.


Draco had been right. Whoever had opened the Chamber of Secrets tried to kill Granger — and Potter saved her life. At least, that was the story Dumbledore told.

"It just doesn't add up," Ron said, shoving his robes in his trunk. "Potter's been their suspect for months and suddenly he figures out how to get into the Chamber of Secrets? Doesn't that seem suspicious to you?"

"He wasn't the heir," Draco muttered.

"Then who was it?" Ron pressed.

"I don't know, okay?" Draco said, irate. "I already told you. My father might have an idea but he wouldn't tell me much. All I know is that he was rather upset when he found out Dumbledore was back. The old geezer just can't stay away from Hogwarts, it seems."

Goyle tried to shut his trunk. Alas, it was overstuffed.

"At least Potter earned it this year, then," he said. "Last year, they didn't even say what he got all those points for."

Draco glared at him.

"Come on, Weasley. Let's go get a good seat on the train before Potter takes that too."

So Ron followed him as he always did, dreading another summer with his family — and another year in a school where Harry Potter could do no wrong.