Chapter 2: Willow Creek Academy

Hermione growled with frustration as she pitched the last recovered relic of the Black family into a rubbish bag. Her head dropped into her hands. "This doesn't make sense." She glanced around the gloomy kitchen with a lost, dazed expression on her face. She pushed against the table as she rose to her feet, then rushed across the room, withdrawing her wand from the deep pocket of her robe. She flung open the door to the small broom cupboard with such force that it collided with the wall and swung closed at her heels with a snap.

From behind the heavy wood Harry heard a succession of sharp taps. Curiously he followed her to the door, turned the handle and pulled it open. He made to enter but was forced to stop just inside, the small space not being big enough for the both of them. He crossed his arms and watched with bewilderment as his friend tapped her wand against the walls, the ceiling and the floor boards, her face growing consecutively darker with each tap.

"Hermione," Harry asked, extending his hand and stopping her mid tap. "What are you doing?"

She wrenched her hand out of his grasp and continued her curious procedure. "I'm looking for a secret catch or a concealment charm of some kind. There must be one in here," she murmured to herself, her wand moving even faster.

"Hermione." He reached out to stop her but she batted his hand away. "Hermione," his voice was insistent, "maybe we were wrong." His voice cracked, hating even the thought. "Maybe R.A.B. wasn't Regulus Black."

"No!" she snapped angrily, glaring at Harry. "It has to be here." She pushed her bushy, brown locks out of her face as she turned to stare down Harry. "You said it yourself. Regulus was a Death Eater. His initials were R.A.B. and I know we found a locket here when we were cleaning the study two years ago. Even Kreacher admitted he saved a silver locket from the rubbish bin. It had to have been Slytherin's Harry, it just had to have been. It all fits."

"All right, let's say you're right, and R.A.B. is Regulus Black, then where is it? We've searched the entire house. There is no locket here. Where else do you suggest we look?"

"I don't…I don't know." Hermione seemed to deflate before his eyes. Her chin fell to her chest and her shoulders hunched forward around her ears. "I don't know." Her voice cracked as she sunk to the floor like a rag doll, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I don't know." Her body shuddered as she wrapped her arms around her knees, drawing them even tighter to her chest. "I was so certain it was here." She turned her head to rest her cheek against her knee. "I…I…needed it to be."

Harry slowly lowered himself to his knees. He lifted his hand uncertainly to draw her into a hug but stopped just short of touching her. Instead he placed his hand awkwardly on top of hers. "What do you mean?"

"First Ron…" her voice cracked, "And now this…" Two fat tears ran down her cheeks when she blinked. "I just needed something to go right. I was so certain the locket was here…ahrrr…" She threw her head back, her fingers clawing at her hair. "I convinced myself of it because I needed to."

When Harry shifted to ease the pain gathering in his knees Hermione turned her hand and clutched tightly at his arm. "This doesn't feel right, Harry!" Her nails bit painfully into his arms. "Ron should be here! We can't do this without him! It's always been the three of us. You…me… and Ron. What are we going to do?"

"Hermione," Harry gently pried his arm free of her grasp, "come here." He scooted forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I know," he soothed, "I need him here too. But it'll be us three again, right? Scrimgeour knows Ron's too important to me to let the Ministry relax on his case, not if he doesn't want the public to know what I really think about the way he runs the Ministry. You know he'll do what ever it takes to keep me on his side. But until they figure this out it's got to be the two of us, okay?" Harry gently eased Hermione away so that he could look at her. "I need you, Hermione. I need you to help me figure this out. I can't do it alone… Please."

"I…" he saw a flash of guilt pass through her eyes a moment before the calm, reserved Hermione he knew returned. "All right." She nodded her head. "All right," Wiping away her tears she accepted Harry's hand and let him pull her to her feet.

"Right." She brushed the dust and grime from Kreacher's cupboard off her clothes before easing around Harry and into the filthy kitchen. "Right," she said again. "Let's go over the facts as we know them. Maybe saying things out loud will make things clearer." Harry sighed with relief. Hermione was back to business and the determined gleam he knew so well had returned to her eyes. "Lets assume," she began to pace agitatedly, "we know for a fact R.A.B. was Sirius's little brother. And we know the locket was here and that Kreacher saved it from the rubbish bin. That means it has to be somewhere here in the house. It couldn't have just up and walked away."

Harry lifted his head to nod in agreement but stopped suddenly, "Wait." he jerked around to face her. "What did you say?"

"It has to be somewhere here in the house."

"No, no. After that?"

"It couldn't have just up and walked away," she repeated uncertainly, watching Harry, who was staring fixatedly at Kreacher's cupboard. "Why? Harry, what are you…"

"The goblets."

"The goblets?" Hermione asked, bewildered. "What are you on about?"

Harry turned to face her, his eyes suddenly wide with inspiration. "The goblets. Don't you remember?" He took an excited step forward. "There was a set of heavy goblets with the Black family crest on them. Mundungus nicked them, remember? He nicked them and sold them in Hogsmeade."

Before Harry could finish, the pieces clicked in Hermione's head. "You think he took the locket."

"And sold it," Harry agreed. "I mean, it's the kind of thing he would take. A heavy, silver locket abandoned in a house that no one was watching over."

"For Merlin's sake." Hermione slapped her palm against her forehead. "Why didn't I see it before? How could I have been so stupid?"

"Hermione, I'm the one who saw the goblets; I knew what he was doing. If anything I should have thought of it sooner."

Hermione waved Harry's words aside. "How do we get a hold of Mundungus to question him?"

"I don't know. I would have asked Dumbledore, but…" Harry fell silent, the pain of Dumbledore's death still too fresh.

"Do you think…Tonks could help us? I mean, she is an Auror and she did say she'd help us any way she can."

Harry nodded after a moments thought. "I think she might be our best shot. Come on." He hurried to the fire banked low in the grate. "We need to get back to Hogwarts. We'll send Tonks an owl asking her to see us when she gets a chance.

"Can't we just Apparate to the Ministry now and…"

"No, we'll wait for tomorrow," Harry turned to face Hermione. "It's too late to go to the Ministry tonight." He reached up and seized a clay jar placed conveniently on the mantle and hoisted it down. "Besides, it's safer for everyone if we wait until she can find a chance to come to us." He glanced down at the jar in his hands. "Good. There's some left." His eyes moved quickly around the room. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Err…" Hermione glanced down at her watch. "Half eleven."

"Shite." Harry turned and dropped a sprinkle of powder in the flames forcing them to blaze a brilliant green. "We better hurry. I told McGonagall we'd be back by ten the latest. She's going to be furious."

Hermione's eyes widened. She rushed forward and snatched the jar out of Harry's hands. "Then what are we still doing standing here?" When Harry made no move to step into the grate, Hermione pushed him toward the flame. "Go on. I'll be right after you."

While Harry stepped into the flame and called out his destination, Hermione took a pinch of the powder for herself. She replaced the pot on the mantle and waited a few seconds to ensure that Harry had gone through before she tossed in the magical dust and cried "Headmistress McGonagall's Office".

"Ron!" Hermione cried in a panic, trapped unwillingly on the other side of the door, She worked the handle frantically, trying desperately to get through. "Ron! What's happening? What's wrong?" her voice demanded when he made no response. "Answer me!"

"Hermione…" he croaked, his voice failing him.

"Ron!" her voice screamed faintly over the sound of glass shattering. "Ron! Hold on! I'll get help! Just hold on!"

The image of stone walls and a banked fire grew hazy and dark as it faded into blankness. Slowly out of the shadows the stern, wrinkled face of Minerva McGonagall appeared. She looked down at him from behind her spectacles with a pinched expression on her face. "What has happened, Mr Weasley?" Sadness resonated in her voice. "What have you done? The Ministry is saying…" Her face began to spin in front of him. "We need to discus your options, Mr Weasley." Her voice grew louder the faster her image spun. "I'm afraid it is no longer viable for you to remain here at Hogwarts." Other voices began to mix with McGonagall's. Out of the riot of noise, two voices became clear.

"Ron, what did you do?" asked Hermione.

"What happened?" Harry's voice followed.

"Don't you understand?" Hermione's words grew stronger then the others. "You have to leave…you have to leave…have to leave…LEAVE…"

"Ronald!" A pleasant, but firm voice broke through the painful words drumming in his mind. "Wake up!" In the back of his brain he became aware of a repetitive pounding that sounded like a fist against wood. "We have to leave soon." The moment his senses came back to him Ron bolted up in bed, cold sweat glistening off his skin, his throat tight and sore. "You'll be late for your first day of school."

He blinked several times to clear his vision and brought into focus a room completely redone in pleasant shades of blue. He had worked hard the past few days, both with the Grangers and without them, cleaning, organising, painting and rearranging the room until it became his own. There was a fresh coat of dense blue paint on the walls and a new rug of similar shade on the floor. The comforter that now lay across his lap was a few shades lighter then the walls: soft, heavenly warm and heavy. Ron loved sleeping under it. In the mornings, when he woke up, he sometimes almost felt warm.

His sheets, at Mrs Granger's insistence, were a bright shade of orange. Hermione must have mentioned it was his favourite colour for when Mrs Granger had spotted him looking twice at them she had put them in her cart, ignoring his objections that he didn't need new sheets. The framed art that had once been nailed into the wall was gone and was replaced by many posters that had caught Ron's attention. His walls were now covered with the skewed images Muggles had of things so common in the wizard world like dragons and wizards, nymphs and pixies, fairies and mermaids. It helped somewhat to have the familiar images around him.

Ron threw his legs over the side of the mattress and his feet bumped into the hardwood that made up his new bedstead. Mrs Granger had taken it upon herself to completely update his room, which of course meant the purchasing of a new bed, wardrobe, side table and desk. Every piece was sleek, shiny, and thoroughly modern. Very different from any of the beds Ron had ever slept in.

"Ronald Weasley!" Jane Granger's annoyed voice snapped from the other side of the door. "Get out of that bed before I come in there and drag you out myself!"

A slight grin spread across Ron's tired lips. That was the first time Mrs Granger had yelled at him since he arrived. Maybe he was going mental, but he liked her yelling at him. In a small way it made him feel more at home.

The handle of the door began to turn and Ron threw his sheets off, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. "It's all right, Mrs Granger," he called over his shoulder. "I'm up."

The door opened a crack and Jane Granger's unconvinced face appeared in the gap. When she spotted him standing at his wardrobe, top drawer open, his fingers gripped around a pair of pants, it softened into her normal welcoming grin. "I'm sorry to rush you, dear. But we have to leave early this morning to get you checked in proper."

"It's all right, Mrs Granger. I'm a master at dressing in a pinch."

"Excellent. Breakfast is on the table when you're ready."

The door clicked closed and Ron pulled the pants free of the drawer. He threw on his dressing robe and tied it shut before opening the door and rushing down the hall to the bathroom on the end. After a quick scrub under the shower's hot spray, he hurried back to his room where he dressed hastily in his new school uniform. Navy trousers, white shirt, navy tie with grey stripes, and a navy jumper with a line of grey around the collar, bottom and cuffs. He ran his fingers quickly through his still wet hair before glancing in the mirror. He straightened the bottom of his jumper and squared his shoulders.

The thought brought a slight flush to his cheeks, but if anyone bothered to ask him he would have to admit that he thought he looked quiet good. Blue was a nice colour on him, much better than maroon had ever been.

He pulled on his usual three pairs of socks and his shoes before hefting his new rucksack off the floor and hoisting the strap over his shoulder and into place. He glanced one last time in the mirror to be certain he was well put together before he left the room, closing the door behind him.

He knew he was supposed to make his bed everyday, but hopefully today the Grangers would let it pass, it being the first day of school. But just in case, the door would remain closed until he returned in the afternoon and could rectify it.

Ron rubbed his hands together briskly as he clumped down the stairs. His fingers were still almost numb with cold but it seemed to be getting better. It had been almost two days since the tips had ached with it. He blew his hot breath inside his cupped hands. What he wouldn't give for a Warming Spell.

Ron pushed open the door to the kitchen and found Mr Granger sitting at the table alone, a cup of tea in one hand, the daily news in the other. At the sound of the door swooshing open, he glanced over the top of the broadsheet to see Ron moving toward the table. "Morning, Ron."

"Good morning, Mr Granger."

"Sleep well?"

"Well enough," Ron responded as he slid into his chair and pulled a plate filled with fresh toast toward him. He took up a slice and spread some jam from a nearby jar onto it. He didn't want to risk losing too much of his stomach today in front of his new classmates. "Where's Mrs Granger?"

Melvin, who had returned to reading his paper, sent a quick glance around the room. "Jane? She must be changing her clothes again."

"Again? How many times has she changed them?"

"At least three times this morning. She wants to make certain she makes a good impression when she brings you to school today."

"Oh." Ron bit into his toast and chewed the sticky confection until there was nothing left to do but swallow. "Mr Granger?" he ventured cautiously. "What is Muggle school like?"

Melvin glanced at Ron over his cup, sighed and set the paper on the table, folding it neatly as he did, all the while giving Ron a considerate look. "I'm not exactly sure how to answer that question, Ron. It's been a long time since I was in school myself, and Hermione's been at Hogwarts for the past seven years. But from what I remember about the letters Hermione sent home at the beginning of first year, it's not that much different from Hogwarts - the structure at least, not the subject-matter. Listen Ron," he tossed the paper aside. "I promise that I will do everything in my power, short of cheating, to make your studies easier. Don't worry. I can say with full honesty that there will be students in your class who have gone to a Muggle school all their life who will know less and do worse than you. Just do your best. That's all Jane and I, and I'm sure your parents, can ask for."

Ron nodded and tried to take another mouthful of toast, but despite the slick jam he had smeared on the top, it felt dry and brittle going down. He took a drink of chilled orange juice to help the process and was delighted to find that the juice was easy to drink. He took another generous gulp, finishing over half the glass in two swallows.

Just then, Jane scurried into the kitchen trying to jab the post of an earring through her lobe, missing twice before finally sliding it through. "Are you finished eating?" she asked as she slid the back into place while trying to glance at her watch. "We should have left five minutes ago."

"Yeah." Ron stood up, polishing off his glass as he did. "I'm ready."

"Good luck today, Ron," Mr Granger said as he finished the last of his tea.

"Right," Ron muttered as he followed Mrs Granger out the door. "I'm going to need it."

"This is your class roster. Here's your timetable, teachers' names beside the subject and room." Ron's eyes widened as he accepted page after page of crisp sheets of white paper from the woman whose name he had not quite caught. Ms Rink, he thought she said her name was, but was so overwhelmed at the moment that he couldn't make his brain stop and think about it. "Your first class of the day is with Mr Knightly; Literature. We're a small school, as I'm sure you've noticed, and all your lessons will be with the same students. If you stick with them you should make it to every lesson just fine. If not, ask another student for directions and I'm sure they'll help you."

The woman, who had her black hair pulled back in a stern bun and was dressed in a mud-coloured skirt suit, stopped beside a closed door. "This is your first classroom. Room two-thirteen. Do you have any questions you would like to ask before I leave you here?"

"No." He shook his head uncertainly. "I don't think so."

"Very good. If you should find later that you do, you can find me in the front office. Good day, Mr Weasley."

She nodded her head curtly before turning and leaving him standing alone in the corridor looking through the window at his new classmates. The panic that had come over him days ago was back and it was building up inside him like a tidal wave, ready to come down and smother the life out of him. The longer he stood there and watched, the worse the anxiety grew.

He couldn't do this. He didn't belong here. He was Ronald Bilius Werasley, sixth son in a long line of wizards, for Merlin's sake. Every ounce of him was magic. What did he know about being a Muggle? How could they possibly expect him to survive like this? He shouldn't be in a Muggle school. He should be back at Hogwarts, where he belonged.

Somehow, through the haze of misery and anxiety that was swarming around him he heard a voice in the back of his head that sounded surprisingly like Hermione telling him to calm down and buck up. He was a Gryffindor after all, the voice yelled, where was his courage? Back at Hogwarts, he thought fleetingly as he squared his shoulders and set his hand on the handle to pull open the door to the classroom.

In the time it took for the door to close, Ron had made a quick assessment of the room, using the skills he had acquired in the few short months he had been searching with Harry and Hermione for Horcruxes. He knew there were roughly twenty other students in the class. They were sitting at individual desks that faced the front of the classroom where a man of diminutive stature with large eyes magnified behind great, wire-framed spectacles stood behind a podium that was that much too tall for him. He had a weathered face, salt and pepper hair which was parted on the left side and combed close to his scalp. The man's grey eyes spotted Ron and his lips parted into a warm smile that showed every one of his crooked, slightly yellowed teeth.

"Ahhh," the man spread out his hands in a welcoming gesture, "this must be Mr Weasley." Twenty odd heads turned and pinned him with curious eyes. "I was just telling the students that you would be joining us today. Come in, come in." He gestured to Ron. "Don't be shy." He stepped around his podium and wove his way through the desks to the back of the room where Ron remained standing, frozen like a statue under the unwavering stares. He extended his short wrinkled hand to Ron and when the tall boy took it, he shook it vigorously. "Welcome to Willow Creek Academy. It's a pleasure to have you with us." Mr Knightly released his hand and took a step back. "Why don't you come up to the front of the room and tell us a little about yourself?"

"Umm…" Ron stammered as Mr Knightly drew him to the front of the room and set him behind the podium, taking a step back to allow him to have centre stage. "Hi," his voice cracked when the eyes continued to stare expectantly at him. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasley and…" he turned to his teacher and asked, "What exactly is it you want me to say?" There was a quiet rupture of snickers aimed at him.

"Why don't you start by telling us where you are from? What brings you to Willow Creek? What are some of your hob…?"

"I got it." Ron interrupted, holding up his hand to silence the excited teacher. "With a sigh he turned back to the class. "As I said, I'm…I'm Ron Weasley. I've lived in Ottery St. Catchpole my entire life. I have five brothers, one sister…no, wait. Make that two sisters. My oldest brother got himself married over the summer holidays. I've come to Willow Creek because I am staying with friends of my family, the Grangers. And as for hobbies, I don't really have any. I reckon. I'm all right at chess. But other than that…" Ron shrugged his shoulders up around his ears while looking over at Mr Knightly. "I think that has to be about it. Is there anything else you would like me to say?"

"No, no," the old man said happily, returning to his podium with a dramatic flourish. "That'll do. That'll do. You can take your seat now. There, next to Mr Grayson." He steered Ron toward the only empty seat remaining in the room. Front row, centre. He cringed as he moved to take his place. Front row, centre? Why did he get the feeling that that particular seat was left open specially for him today?

"You'll be glad to know," Knightly continued when Ron had taken his seat, "that you have come at an excellent time. We have just begun our section on epic poetry. We've decided to try something challenging this term so we're going to be reading John Milton's Paradise Lost. Have you read it?"

"No, sir." Ron shook his head. "I haven't. What's it about?"

"That's why we're going to read it, my boy." He pointed his finger at the ceiling with a dramatic flourish. "To discover. Miss Ness," he turned sharply, "would you mind retrieving a copy for Mr Weasley?"

"Of course not, sir."

Ron turned to see a girl with warm, coffee-coloured skin, bright, brown eyes, and hip-length, black hair rise to her feet, slide open the door to a cupboard standing beside her and crouch low to plunge her hand inside. Within seconds she was pulling back, her fingers curled around a heavy, hard-covered copy of the text. She slid the door back into place before she gracefully turned and straightened to her full height in one smooth motion. She took the few steps that separated her from Ron and deposited the book in his hand.

"Thank you." He nodded his head politely.

"You're welcome." Her lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile before she turned to make her way back to her seat.

"Now, class please open your books to page six. We'll read the introduction on John Milton's life and works together. Mr Weasley," he smiled kindly at Ron, "would you mind reading the first paragraph aloud?"

"Umm," Ron fumbled the pages through his large fingers, blushing a deep red when some of the other students snickered at him. "John Milton," he coughed twice to clear his throat, "1608 – 1674, is considered one of the greatest poets of the English language."

Ron stopped just outside the doors of the school building. He squinted his eyes against the sun and scanned the grounds in search of a nice secluded spot where he could make his retreat. He needed a chance to be alone and let his guard down. He hadn't realised how difficult it would be to keep from slipping and showing how ignorant he was of the Muggle world and how out of place he was because of his roots.

Just this morning Ron had made a fool of himself when Mr Knightly had handed him a stack of papers held together by a thin bit of shiny metal. Intrigued, Ron had stared at it a good minute and a half until the girl sitting behind him was no longer able to stifle her laughter. Feeling like an idiot, he had set the papers on his desk, covered his eyes with his hand, and sunk low in his seat. 'No staring at barmy Muggle objects in public,' he reminded himself silently. 'No staring at barmy Muggle objects in public.' He just knew, with all certainty, that he was going to slip up sooner or later and then there would be real hell to pay.

Ron took in the layout of the school yard. Only his class and the class directly below it were out at this time, it being their designated break. It was quite obvious in the way people moved and how comfortable they were in their surroundings that they had their usual spots that they sat in every day.

For instance, a group of boys that he recognised from his class took up an entire bench between the four of them. They sat on the back rest with their large feet soiling the bench with mud. And sitting on the steps a few paces from him was a group of girls he didn't recognise. They were huddled together in a tight clump, their faces tilted in toward each other. Another group of girls, he noticed, had strategically chosen their place at the base of a picturesque water fountain that sat in the middle of the lush property. Another large group of mixed students sat in the shade of the mammoth hedge that bordered the lawns.

Missing his two best friends now more then ever, Ron sighed and took a step off the main stairs. He had found what he was looking for. To his right, peeking out just around the side of the building, was a cluster of white stone benches organised in a large circle. They were situated in a clear patch of grass which meant, to Ron's delight, there was not an ounce of shade covering them.

He hurried across the grounds to the bench that sat the farthest away from the school and settled his weight on it. When he felt the warmth of the sun begin to penetrate the fabric of his jumper he leaned back until he was lying across the length of the seat. He closed his eyes and turned his face toward the warm rays of the sun, revelling in the feel of its warm embrace.

He had just felt the first tingle of sleep's gentle tendrils alight on his brain when a shadow settled over his face and wrenched him out of his restful state. His eyes flew open, his hand thrust into his pocket and he lunged into a sitting position, nearly colliding skulls with the person standing over him.

"Oi!" came an affronted female voice. "Would you watch what you're doing? You nearly hit me!"

"What were you doing crouching over me like that?" Ron pulled his empty hand out of his pocket.

"I was checking to see if you were all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh… I don't know," she said derisively. "Maybe because it's bloody hot out here and you're lying there in direct sunlight wearing a heavy jumper and trousers. What could I possibly have been thinking? I'm surprised you haven't passed out from heat exhaustion."

Ron adjusted his jumper so that it sat bellow his belt line. "I'm fine." He flung his right leg over the bench so that he sat facing his intruder. "I was just enjoying the sunshine when you…" the words died on his lips and his spine snapped straight in surprise. He hadn't expected the girl snarling unattractively at him to be so lovely.

She had large, bright amber eyes, a straight elegant nose, high cheekbones, delicately- arched brows, full lips that turned up naturally in the corner and framing her charming face was a head of hair alive with colour. It was a warm honey brown with strands of gold and copper shot through. She wore it parted on the right and cropped short at her chin, framing her face.

Even through the numbing effect of her striking beauty Ron realised there was something oddly familiar about the girl. Almost like he had seen her before. He knew it wasn't from seeing her during lessons; somehow he must have missed her for surely he would not have forgotten a face as enchanting as hers. No, he decided, it had to be somewhere else.

The girl crossed her arms in front of her chest and tapped her toe impatiently. "Are you quite through staring at me?"

"What?" A red flush of embarrassment engulfed his face in bright colour. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. I mean, you took me by surprise, is all." He stammered. "It's just…there's something very familiar about your face. Have I seen you somewhere before?"

The girl's features relaxed out of her angry glare. "Well, that's something I haven't heard before. Although I can't say I didn't expect it." She turned on her heal and took the open seat next to him. "You said your name was Ron Weasley, right?" He nodded dumbly. "Weasley's not a very common name, is it?" she persisted.

"No." he shook his head. "I don't suppose it is."

"And who did you say you were staying with?"

"Jane and Melvin Granger." He cocked his brow at her. "Why do you ask?"

"No re-"

"Granger? I thought I heard you say that name before." Ron and the girl both turned to find the four boys that had been sitting on the bench across the yard standing in front of them, nasty scowls on their faces. "This wouldn't be Beaver's family we're talking about, would it?"

Ron's eyes narrowed on the brown haired boy and his companions who flanked him on three sides, laughing at his lame attempt at insult.

"Excuse me." Ron rose slowly to his feet. "What exactly do you mean by Beaver?"

"You know," he laughed. "Beaver!" He brought his right hand up to his face and pointed two fingers down to represent two overly large buck teeth. "Hermione Granger. Beaver."

Ron's jaw stiffened and his mouth parted slightly revealing his painfully clenched teeth. "You shut your mouth."

The laughter of the boy and his three friends grew louder. "Tell me, is Granger just as ugly and obnoxious as she always was? Ohh, ohh." He flung his hand up in the air and waved it around. "Pick me, pick me. I know the answer. I always know the answer. Ohh, ohh." One of the boys behind him collapsed onto his shoulder, tucking his watering eyes into his hand. "Who did you piss off that you got that kind of sentence?"

"I said shut up!" Ron yelled, his hands curling into fists at his side. "You don't even know what you're talking about."

A flicker of delight appeared in the average sized boys eyes. "What's this?" He leaned in close to take a good luck at Ron's outraged face. "If I didn't know any better I would guess that you fancy Beaver. But that's impossible. Who in their right mind could possibly fancy that pitiful little know-it-all?"

"Pitiful!" Ron's lips separated into a menacing sneer. "I'll show you pitiful." He made a lunge for the other boy, drawing back his fist to take a swing but stopped when he saw the girl he had been talking to jump between them.

"Nigel! Ron! Stop this at once."

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Ron shouted savagely over her shoulder. "Hermione is one of the greatest people I have ever known."

"What's the matter, Weasel?" Nigel taunted. "Need a girl to defend you?"

"Weasel?" Ron snorted as the girl tried to draw him back. "Congratulations on originality. The last person who called me that came up with it in first-year."

It took a moment for Nigel to understand what Ron had said, but the instant it clicked in to place it was written plain on his infuriated face. "Are you calling me stupid?" he yelled, oblivious to the group gathering around them.

"If the wand fits?"

Nigel pushed the girl out of his way and took a hold of Ron by the collar of his shirt. "I think I need to explain to you how things work around here."

"No need." Ron pushed firmly against his chest, forcing Nigel to lose his grip. "I know perfectly well how you think things should work. Well I'm warning you, don't try and pull any of your bollocks with me. You don't scare me, you ugly tosser. If you had seen half the things I have seen, or done half the things I have done, you wouldn't be scared of you either. And I'm warning you now," he straightened to his full, intimidating height, "Never insult Hermione Granger. Do you understand? She is the kindest, bravest, most beautiful wi-person I have ever known. So I had better not," he jabbed Nigel sharply in the chest, "ever hear you talking bad about her again."

"What's going on over here?" Ron took a step back whilst turning to see the crowd part to let a tall woman who was as thin as a rail march quickly across the lawns toward them. Her hair was soft, dirty blond and cropped short around her ears in a riot of curls. She had a pair of wire framed spectacles that she wore not on her nose but atop her head like a headband, holding her hair in place. When she drew near she gave her head a quick jerk forward and her glasses fell into place on the bridge of her nose.

"Nigel Kelly," she sighed, coming to a stop just inside the circle the other students had made. "Causing trouble again, I see. Why am I not surprised?" Shaking her head, she turned to see who the class bully was tormenting that day. Instead of finding Nigel's usual victim she found a boy with dark ginger hair who stood slightly taller then herself, which was no small feat. She tilted her head up until she met Ron's fiery blue eyes. "You must be our new student. Hello," she extended her hand. "I'm Ms Masterson. What's your name again?"

"Ron Weasley." He took her hand and gave it a curt shake.

"I'm sorry to have to do this to you on your first day of school, Mr Weasley, but I'll need you and Mr Kelly to stay after class so we can straighten this out." She dropped Ron's hand then and turned back to the group. "What are you all standing here for? You're five minutes late for lessons as it is."

The shocked silence that had captivated the group broke and in a rumble of noise they turned as a mass and began to make their way toward their next lesson.

Ron took a moment to take a deep breath and restore his calm before taking up his bag. He was just about to throw it over his shoulder when a strong hand gripped his arm and turned him about. Once again he was staring into the steely blue eyes of Nigel Kelly. "I'm warning you now, Weasley. Stay away from my girl."

Ron looked over Nigel's shoulder to the girl who had sat on the bench next to him several minutes ago. "Funny." He turned his cold blue eyes on Nigel. "I always got the impression that girls belonged to no one. They're not property you know, arse hole."

Ron threw his bag over his shoulder and used his elbow to move past Kelly's toned body. His quick step around the bully was prompted as much by his desire to be away from the boy's presences as it was the shock over what had transpired over the last twenty or so minutes. He didn't know what had come over him. What on earth prompted him to pick a fight on the first day of school with the one person he knew he didn't want to be on the bad side of? All he knew for certain was that when Nigel Kelly started in on Hermione he had seen red.

Ron stumbled in his step as he came to a sudden realisation. He glanced back over his shoulder at Kelly and his cronies. These were Hermione's first classmates. That mindless prat back there was more then likely the reason why his words on Hallowe'en back in first year had hurt her so much. Nigel Kelly had more than likely tormented her for years, right up until she had left for Hogwarts.

Ron's chin stiffened with resolve as he turned back around. If what he assumed turned out to be true, he would have to have a word with Mr Kelly.