kbinnz - Harry's New Home

Peterson obeyed, snatching Harry's ankles and lifting so that the boy was suspended between the two Ravenclaws. "Hex him!" Jeffreys ordered O'Leary. "Something good and nasty so he quits fighting!"

Harry had lost his wand, but he was far from helpless. He squirmed madly, putting his Harry-hunting experience to good use. He got one foot free and kicked Peterson in the jaw, throwing him backwards into O'Leary and causing both of them to fall.

"Hey!" Ron had come out of the Great Hall to find Harry and caught sight of the melee. He took one look and darted into the Hall, yelling for his brothers, then tore back to the fray to help his Housemates.

As he arrived, Ron saw that Harry had nearly fought free of Jeffrey's grip. Smythe, however, had managed to shake off the pain from his knee long enough to grab Hermione by the hair as she tried to wiggle out from underneath him. The girl let out a shriek of pain as the older student brutally yanked her back, then threw up her hands defensively as he raised his fist to punch her. Ron hurled himself on top of the larger boy, forcing him to release his grip on Hermione but also - once again - squashing the poor girl beneath the boys' struggling forms. Ron grabbed Smythe's wrist, preventing him from striking Hermione, while Hermione managed to drive her elbow into Smythe's solar plexus as she struggled to get away.

Jeffreys swore as he saw his allies fall. "You little bastard!" He grabbed Harry by the throat and pinned him against the wall. Harry choked, clawing at the older boy's grip. He dimly saw Jeffreys draw back his fist and knew that he had no hope of blocking the punch to his face.

"Let the Firstie go," a new voice ground out, very deep and very menacing. The pressure on Harry's throat abruptly eased, and as he desperately dragged in a much-needed lungful of air, he saw that the tip of a wand was digging into Jeffreys' neck, just below his ear. Attached to the other end of the wand was a very large and angry-looking Marcus Flint. Harry recognized him as a Slytherin prefect and Quidditch team member, because Oliver Wood had once pointed him out when the Gryffindors were turning the pitch over to the Slytherins. Wood's exact words had been "He's a right mean bugger, so keep an eye out for him!" and looking at Flint's malevolent expression, Harry had no reason to doubt Wood's assessment.

Meanwhile, Ron's timely intervention had prevented Smythe from further harming Hermione, but the burly seventh-year had managed to shrug off the smaller children's blows. He grabbed Ron by his shirtfront while his other hand snatched out his wand. Ron's blood ran cold as Smythe leveled the wand between his eyes and snarled, "CrucтАФ"

Before Smythe could finish the spell, another body cannoned into him, knocking his wand from his grasp and aborting the Unforgiveable. Things deteriorated into a free-for-all at that point, and everything became a blur. Ron had no idea who had saved him, but he assumed it was one of his brothers тАУ a suspicion which grew stronger when he heard Smythe grunt in satisfaction and a new, masculine voice wail in pain. Ron promptly sank his teeth into the wrist that he still held and had the pleasure of hearing Smythe yelp while the other person's pained cry cut off. A trousers-clad pair of legs squirmed past his vision, narrowly avoiding kicking him in the head and confirming that there was at least one other boy assisting him in the fight. Then Hermione managed to grab two handfuls of Smythe's hair and slammed the older boy's head against the floor. He groaned and went limp, and Ron seized the opportunity to pin both his wrists together and lie on top of them. Only then did he lift his head and look around.

Hermione was kneeling by Smythe's head, rumpled and breathing hard, with a grim light of battle in her eyes. Smythe was groaning but not putting up much of a fight тАУ yet тАУ and Ron looked around to see which of his brothers had come to his aid.

His jaw dropped. There, sitting with both knees firmly planted in Smythe's midriff was Draco Malfoy. For once the Slytherin's immaculate coiffure was disheveled, and he had a split lip. "Malfoy!" Ron yelped incredulously. "Was that you?"

The instant the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could snatch them back. Of all the stupid things to say! But amazingly, for once Malfoy didn't sneer. "You didn't think we'd let you defend a Slytherin Firstie without help, did you?" he asked, glaring at Smythe. "Hey, Granger, how about slamming his head into the floor again? I think he might be waking up."

Ron was too dazed to follow up Malfoy's inexplicable statement, so he turned to see what else had happened while he'd been distracted. He saw that a big Slytherin prefect held the one who'd been manhandling Harry at wandpoint, while Fred and George had a third in a headlock which Ron knew from painful experience was extremely effective. The last of Harry's assailants was cowering away from a tall dark-skinned girl with a Slytherin prefect's badge on her robe.

Even as it became clear that the scuffle was over, more students came hurrying up, drawn from the Great Hall by the commotion. Ron saw Percy, Oliver Wood and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and even timid Neville Longbottom approaching at a dead run. Making matters even more interesting, a sizable number of Slytherins had already arrived and, with wands drawn, were reinforcing their prefects.

Ron noticed that as the others drew up, Flint and the girl (Jones? Jonas?) snapped out orders that had the Slytherins forming an efficient defensive perimeter. The Gryffindors were less organized, tending to mill about and demand answers rather than cede authority to any single individual. Since Percy was the only Gryffindor prefect present, Ron couldn't really blame the other Gryffindors for being unwilling to take orders from him. Oliver Wood, however, quickly appreciated the utility of the Slytherins' approach, and he immediately had the Quidditch team emulate the other House's maneuvers. The rest of the Gryffindors followed suit, and soon there was not only a mixed group standing guard against further attacks, but each of the attackers was now covered by at least two people.

"You ****** little Mudblood ****," Smythe growled at Hermione as his head cleared and he realized that, thanks to her interference, their plan to attack Harry had failed.

Hermione's lips tightened as she slowly stood up. "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me," she retorted, though her voice trembled a bit. Then she took two steps to her left and brought her heel down sharply. Smythe's wand snapped in two beneath her foot, and the older boy let out a howl of anguish. "Oh, dear," Hermione said sweetly. "How clumsy of me. I suppose that as a Mudblood, I keep forgetting how fragile wands are."

The other students stared at Hermione with mingled awe and dread. Snapping someone's wand was the schoolyard equivalent of a nuclear strike. Smythe's whimpers of disbelief were the only sound for several seconds, then: "Good going, Firstie," Jones, the Slytherin prefect, said admiringly.

That broke the silence. "Let go of me," Jeffreys demanded, a not inconsiderable feat of bravado considering that Flint's wand was still digging painfully into his neck. "This has nothing to do with you or your snakes, Flint."

Flint snorted. "You went after one of our Firsties. That bloody well is our business."

"That Malfoy brat had no business interfering with Smythe," Jeffreys argued. "He deserved the pasting he got."

Flint glanced over at Draco and grinned. "Looks like it was Smythe who got the pasting," he shot back. "And I was talking about Potter."

Jeffreys and the other Ravenclaws stared at Flint, as did the Gryffindors. "What? Potter's a lion, not a snake."

Flint shrugged. "He belongs to our Head, that makes him a snake. Touch him and die."