Chapter 2: Strike, Magic, and Counterstrike

Coming down from Gryffindor tower, Ronald Weasely, sixth of seven children was in a very dark mood. He had made a point of blatantly ignoring one Harry James Potter. However, it is very hard to be pointedly ignoring someone if you cannot find them. Compounding his mood was that his supposed best friend, Hermione had been missing for almost a full day. He knew she was level headed, sensible, and too brilliant to fall for Harry's act. He just knew it. He had piled his plate high with food, when the normally noisy and busy Great hall suddenly fell completely silent, as if a horde of Dementors had just glided in.

His fork clattered to his plate, his mouth half open to expose the fried egg and sausage he had been chewing on as they walked in holding hands. He watched in stunned disbelief: They were holding hands! Each other's hands! Then Harry did the unthinkable and kissed Hermione on the cheek. His Hermione! They sat down amongst the first years as far away from him as physically possible. Hermione spared him the barest of a glance. Harry did not even look in his direction. Dark and moody, everything reached a boiling point as something within Ronald Billius Weasely snapped as he surged to his feet, stopping all activity around him.

"You selfish! Self-centered! Arrogant! Prat!" screamed Ron as he stalked the length of the Gryffindor table towards his former friends, "You lie and cheat your way in to the tournament!" he was beyond anger, beyond fury, "Then you steal my Hermione! She was mine! She was meant to be mine!"

Hermione stepped forward, hands raised to placate the raging Gryffindor only to find herself staring at the tip of Ron's wand, "Ron, please…" Her eyes widened as from a distance of two feet, she saw the magic sweep from the teenager's fingertips, down the length of the wand.

Quidditch reflexes had Harry first push Hermione to the floor, his wand rising even as he did so, "Declino alica!" The absorbing spell lived up to its name, absorbing the hex and then redirecting it towards the ceiling. His eyes narrowed, focused on the flaming hair of his attacker and retaliated with a widow maker punch that caught the redhead square on the nose. Trading blows with Dudley and his gang in the alleys around Little Whinging had forced Harry to learn to brawl, and he did, like a street fighter. The follow up blows were fast and driven by anger as Ron rocked back, bent double from a one-two combination to the stomach.

Rendered incoherent with pain, Ron unleashed a string of hexes and curses that missed their intended target but struck the gathered crowd. A retaliatory curse was on the tip of Harry's tongue when Hermione reached up and grabbed his free hand, upsetting his balance slightly as he looked down. She blinked. She had never seen the gleam in his eye before, it was a mix of power and something else that almost made her shudder, "Don't. Harry, it's not worth it."

A shield snapped in to existence, covering them both as one of Ron's curses very nearly struck its mark, but was deflected upwards where it vanished against the roof of the great hall. Harry smiled, "Nice timing there… love," he whispered and caught her expression, "Did he get you?" his voice took on a slightly dark edge until she shook her head. He relaxed and pulled her in to a hug

"Potter!" screamed black robed Professor Severus Snape, head of Slytherin house, arguably Harry's greatest enemy within the walls of Hogwarts. Already storming towards them were irate Professors Snape and McGonagall, with Headmaster Dumbledore trailing several steps behind. Poppy Pomfrey was helping Ron stream the flow of blood from his broken nose. "What, in Merlin's name, did you do, Potter?" the last word was filled with several decades worth of anger, hatred and disgust.

With Hermione holding his hand, Harry suddenly realized something important: Snape. Bully. Foul Temper. Hated James Potter. Hated Harry Potter by extension. Snape was to Hogwarts, as Dudley was to Little Whinging, "I'm sorry, sir. But I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Do not lie to me! You arrogant, attention seeking brat!" snarled Snape, 'Attacking another student in the Great Hall! In front of six professors and half the school no less! Does your arrogance know no bounds?"

"If you would care to review the facts as they stand, professor, Ron fired first, I defended myself, then he fires off a half dozen spells," he pointed to several of Ron's victims, "cursing innocent by standers in front of five professors and half the school!"

If Snape's sneer could have grown any wider or more disdainful, it probably would have, "If you were even half the man I am, you would just admit that you provoked it!" Snape just stared straight into Harry's eyes and there was a sudden tickle at the back of his brain. He jerked his head to the side, breaking eye contact with Snape. If looks could kill, Harry would have almost certainly been dead, or least petrified. But what was that? It felt as if someone or something was trying to attack his mind. He was not sure but made a note to himself: Avoid eye contact with Snape in future.

"Crisis barely averted," thought the headmaster. Ron was already on his way to the hospital wing for a broken nose. Professor McGonagall was already ushering the students back to their food. He caught Harry's gaze and realized that there was something different about the boy standing before him. Love, he realized. Harry was in love and made it obvious as he protectively pulled Hermione close to him, and whispered something in her ear. That changed the situation.

That afternoon, on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole, near Devon, Molly Weasely stood contemplating the garden, and the need to de-gnome it once again. She was standing at the sink when an owl flew in to present her with an owl and a letter bearing the crest of the headmaster of Hogwarts. The contents left her more than a little worried, as it was a complete account of Ron's actions towards Harry and Hermione.

She had not even put down the headmaster's letter when a Hogwarts owl flapped through the window, this time bearing the neat, concise writing of Minerva McGonagall. Molly could recognize the writing in part due to the detention notices she received regarding her twin boys on an almost weekly basis. McGonagall's letter only repeated and confirmed everything that Dumbledore had already confirmed.

From shock, to disappointment and dismay, she made her way in to the living room to make a floo call. Otherwise, Arthur would have to wait until he got home before learning of all the news… including an embarrassing first: The letter included a summons to appear at Hogwarts to discuss their son's behavior. Molly knew this was bad. Even the twins, with their never-ending stream of detention notices, had ever had their parents summoned to Hogwarts. The parent teacher conference scheduled for the following day was going to make the coming few weeks at home, very uncomfortable for Ron.

Back at Hogwarts that evening, Hermione Granger sat next to her boyfriend…. Boyfriend… she had to admit that she liked the way that sounded. However, her thoughts focused on something far more important: Everyone assumed she cast the second shield. However, her wand was in her bag at the time…she shifted slightly, "Harry?" He withdrew from the charms textbook he had been buried in. "I need to tell you about…. I didn't cast that second shield."

Harry looked confused, "What? Then who?" he shrugged, brushing it aside, "Guess somebody out there still likes me…" He made light of the matter because he was not sure what else he could do. If he did have someone watching out for him, hopefully that someone meant him no harm…

In another part of the castle, Headmaster Dumbledore stared out the window of his office, one hand absent-mindedly stroking Fawkes. Whoever had placed Harry's name in to the Goblet of Fire had outmaneuvered him but the situation he could still control the situation. He could still, indirectly control Harry's actions for the moment. Thank goodness, there was not a complete set of the tournament rules in the Ministry of Magic - he had seen to that personally. More importantly, the lad had yet to figure out that he could petition the wizarding courts for emancipation the moment he turned fifteen…

The long term, the bigger picture, and the greater good occupied Albus Percival Wulfric Brain Dumbledore as he began to plan just how to regain control of Harry. So wrapped up in his plots and counter plots, he failed to notice the quiet trill of dissatisfaction from Fawkes, who subtly shifted on his perch, so that his back was facing the headmaster.

In Gryffindor Tower, the twin Weaselys were trying to get through to prevent the youngest of the Weasely's from punching out her brother, "Honestly Ron! You've got the emotional range of a teaspoon and enough common sense to fill a small teaspoon and barely enough intelligence to fill a thimble!" Ron lived with five older brothers, and had become very good at tuning out whatever he did not want to hear. Everything said fell in to that particular category as he turned things over in his own mind.

"He has everything! Money, and fame which bring him power, and influence! And he's too thick headed to see what he can do with all of that," though Ron bitterly, "What I would do to have just the money! And then he goes off and steals my girl from me?" Even Ron was not dense enough to contemplate calling Hermione Granger his girlfriend, especially since he had never done anything about his attraction.

"…mum about what you did! Throwing curses at your two best friends! Mum will be furious! And so am I! It's not like you're rich in the friends department!" Only one word had penetrated the boy's auditory shield: "Mum."

"Wait, what… why on earth would you tell mum anything?"

Ginny shook her head in exasperation, "You've not heard a word any of us having been saying. McGonagall has already sent an owl to mum! If you're lucky, there will just be howler!" that crashed through the shields in a heartbeat, "Or she might just deliver you a howler in person!"

"But, but why would McGonagall contact mum? I was the one who got his nose broken!" it was clear that he was still in rage and a funk about it, as he couldn't even bring himself to say their names.

The twins clamped on to Ginny, as her simmering temper finally reached its boiling point, "You fired curses at two unarmed students in the Great Hall, in front of at least a hundred witnesses! Six of whom were teachers!" George was convinced that sparks would start flying from Ginny's ears any second.

"Well, brother of mine, it would seem that there was nothing left in the brains department after five sons for the sixth son." Commented Fred, always making jokes regardless of whether the mood and the moment suited it.

"While I couldn't agree more," replied George, "I suggest we remove the firecracker before it goes up like a deflagration deluxe!" Fred gave his twin brother a sharp look, and George had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. Dragging an irate Ginny, the twins left Ron to ferment.

That evening, the Trophy Room was once again to witness Ron scrubbing awards, trophies, and medals without the aid of magic. He had done this once before, during his second year and had hated it as much then as he did now. Only this time, he had done nothing to deserve it! He continued to boil as he mentally ranted, "Why does Potter get all the glory and fame. It's not as if he even deserves it. I am from a respectable Pureblood family and I'm stuck playing second fiddle to the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. On top of that, Hermione insists that Potter didn't want to enter. Entered against his will - my eye! If she's so smart, why doesn't she see the truth when it's so obvious that Harry Potter is an attention seeking prat?"

As he was mentally ranting about the injustice of things, Ron did not hear Draco Malfoy walk in, until the Slytherin spoke, "So Weasley, since you've finally seen the truth about Potter, perhaps you are open to discussing other opinions about our world."

Ron looked at Draco and thought about it for a moment, "Depends what you want to talk about, Malfoy." He looked around the room and noticed that the Caretaker Argus Filch was nowhere. Where was back up when you needed it?

Smiling, "The squib has been, distracted for the next two hours or so and will only come back after your detention is long finished." Draco offered his hand, "Draco Ares Malfoy. I once said to Harry that some wizarding families are much better than others are. I think I should have been talking to you, instead of him." Ron hesitated, "Don't worry about the medals," he snapped his fingers and Crabbe and Goyle sauntered in, half escorting, half herding the first and second year students from Slytherin, "They'll take care of your detention well enough." The cracking knuckles of the brutes were incentive enough for the first and second years to get to work.

Intrigued, Ron followed Draco out of the trophy room, but found himself hesitant to take that first step in to the Slytherin Common Room. It was the snake pit. His hesitation brought the hint of smile to Draco's face, "You don't have to worry Wea… Ronald," he said, "Though I applaud your caution considering our past." Draco reached in to his pocket and pulled his wand and to Ron's surprise handed in to Ron, "Consider this, a token of good faith. I give you my word that you will come to no harm unless you strike first."

Still cagey, the chess master in Ron analyzed the situation and came to the only logical conclusion: He should walk back to the Trophy Room and serve out his detention. "Walk away, but I can help you," said Draco quietly, "You and Potter, three years of friendship and he chucks it all away. Revenge. Money. Power. Perhaps even fame. I can do a lot…"

Ron took the proffered wand, and drew his own. Draco nodded once, approvingly and led the way in to the heart of Slytherin House. The layout had not changed since his last time in here. During his second year, he had gained entry with Harry, both of them disguised with Polyjuice. It was still a low ceilinged dungeon like room with low backed black and dark green leather sofas and dark wood cupboards in the corners and running along the far wall. A series of lamps that gave off light with a greenish tinge and it reconfirmed Ron's initial assessment for two years ago: Grandly spooky sort of place.

Once there, the two of them sat down and Ron listened, while Draco simply talked. It began as more of a lecture but quickly became more of lively debate. Ron slowly began to realize that what Draco talked about when he said that some wizarding families were better than others were and not entirely because of money, infamy, fame, or influence. His own family had fallen so far, so fast; he found that he could believe that the Pureblood way of thinking was the correct way.

An hour later, Ron thanked Draco for enlightening him, and headed back to Gryffindor Tower with a lot to think about. Draco was very pleased with how his day had turned out. With a little more persuasion, he would probably have a new recruit for the pureblood cause.