Inquiring Minds

<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>

Speak when you are angry -- and you'll make the best speech you'll ever regret.
- Laurence J. Peter

<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>

Chapter 2: Brain Freeze

A chorus of yells reverberated loudly throughout the Headmaster's office at the same exact moment that, for the first time in her life, Hermione Granger's mind simply couldn't wrap itself around an idea.

It felt as though her brain, which was constantly abuzz with life and energy, thoughts flying this way and that - had suddenly been unplugged.

Vaguely, she registered that both Ron and Ginny had shot up from their seats and were shouting at Professor Dumbledore and a wide-eyed Blaise Zabini.

Blaise, for her part, seemed to stare at the Headmaster in what looked to be an abject refusal to believe that he had just said what he had in such a manner. It was evident, through her tight-lipped stare and clenched fists, that the girl was repressing the urge to strike the old wizard with all her might.

Remus, Hermione noted, looked distinctly stricken. It only took her a moment to realize that his expression was probably mirrored exactly on her own face.

The only thing she could think was 'How could he not tell us?'

'It isn't so much the fact that Harry has a girlfriend' Hermione thought slowly, though the idea itself was indeed bizarre.

'It's more the fact that for some reason he decided that he didn't want to tell his best friends and his... Remus - that he had been steadily seeing someone for months,' the bookish girl concluded to herself.

It stung. In fact it hurt like a bitch, but Hermione wasn't about to voice that. Instead she got her brain back in gear and started to do some intense examining.

The first person she looked to was Professor McGonagall, who was sucking very slowly at a lemon drop and looking not in the least bit surprised. Professor Snape was sitting near the Transfiguration teacher, and though he had a distinct look of disgust upon his face, he showed no signs of surprise either.

'So they knew,' Hermione thought, 'He told Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape and not, Ron, Remus, myself, or... anyone else here.'

'It just doesn't add up!' she screamed inside her head, utterly frustrated with the idea that her best friend had been keeping secrets.

Her ears seemed to suddenly begin working again and she heard Professor Dumbledore trying, without success, to get everyone to sit back down and allow for an explanation.

Working on auto-pilot, she got up from her seat and dragged Ron away from where he was yelling into the expressionless face of Blaise Zabini, and pushed him into a seat between herself and Ginny.

She placed a hand on Ron's knee and gently traced small circles on the fabric of his pant leg. Almost immediately Ron's yelling and arguing ceased and he was transfixed by the calming touch.

Hermione was doing it mainly to keep him quiet, but after a moment she found it to be oddly comforting to herself as well - to be able to feel that though Harry had apparently drifted away from her at some point during the year, she still had one best friend who was right there, easily accessible and in the flesh.

With Ron's loud squawking having finally been silenced, the room was filled only with the angry murmuring of adults, and Blaise found that she preferred the Weasel's yammering to the lynch-mob style muttering of the Order.

Still, there was nothing she could do but sigh, tuck her oddly straight hair behind her ears, and try to ignore the disbelieving stares Draco had been giving her since the proclamation had been made.

"If you will all cease your pointless grumbling, I am sure the Headmaster has more to say," Blaise's godfather finally said in his deceptively silky and dangerously quiet voice.

The girl's love for him increased about ten-fold in that moment, for the angry whispers did, indeed, cease.

The Headmaster sent a slight smile in the direction of the Potions Master who responded with a simple nod. "Thank you, Severus," the old wizard said with a bit of a tired note to his voice. "There is indeed, much more to be said."

The assembled group of witches and wizards watched as the weary old man stood behind Blaise's chair, his weathered hands resting on its back. The motion was clearly in her defense and she wondered exactly what he was going to say next.

"It would do well to remember we are, unfortunately, in the middle of a war. A terrible and deadly war in which both Mr. Potter and Ms. Zabini are expected to fight on opposite sides," the Headmaster began.

"Though it may not make immediate sense to you, I ask that you try to sympathize with their situation, and open your minds to the idea that they chose to keep you in the dark, not to hurt you, but perhaps for the simple reason of keeping each other, and yourselves, safe."

There was a moment of silence before the incredulous voice of Ron Weasley was heard.

"But, Professor, seven months?" came the loud and obviously incredulous reply. "We're supposed to be his best mates, and he decides not to tell us of his relationship with... that Slytherin... at all. Not even the slightest hint? That doesn't sound like the Harry I know."

Several murmurs of agreement came from various parts of the room. Soon many were speculating on what had happened to Harry to make him become so secretive and withdrawn. Many eyes turned to Blaise as the reason for Harry's sudden persona shift.

Blaise could not believe her ears. She had had just about enough.

"Are you people absolutely mad or just plain stupid?" she said, irritated that she was under scrutiny by the supposedly intelligent minds of the Order of the Phoenix. "Harry was trying to protect all of you, trying to keep you out of the crossfire we knew our relationship was going to cause. The crossfire it already has caused. So yes, maybe it doesn't sound like the Harry you know, but could it be that he was learning from his mistakes, trying to be better for all of you? Did it ever occur to you that what he was doing was necessary? Commendable even?

"After all, he was practicing the Order's standard policy of need-to-know, was he not? He spent hours agonizing over whether he should tell all of you, but every time he thought the idea through to conclusion, it seemed as though it was a straight ticket to hurt feelings and pain. Harry nearly drove himself crazy with guilt, only to have you be upset with him? Merlin! If he was here to have to listen to all of you complaining about it, it would tear him apart!" Here she paused and made a noise faintly similar to that of a cat hacking at a hairball lodged in its throat as she shook her head slowly.

"How dare you accuse him of anything other than loving all of you with every fiber of his being!" Blaise concluded bitingly.

Her eyes had narrowed during her little tirade, but she did not raise her voice or move an inch. The Order was, for a moment, hypnotized by the voice of the furious yet extremely self-controlled girl scolding them.

"Well put, Miss Zabini," Professor Dumbledore said from his position behind her chair, but they both noted that many were still obviously unconvinced.

"Though, moving on, in order for us to determine the exact cause of Harry's current state and how he can be revived, it is necessary for us to closely examine the relationship between himself and Miss Zabini," the Headmaster continued.

"Why?" came the curious voice of Hermione Granger. If one looked closely enough, it was becoming quite obvious that Blaise was beginning to tense in her seat.

"Harry's current location, as of right now, is St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," the Headmaster began with a resigned sigh.

The declaration brought forth a flurry of action. Remus, who had still been taking in the action occurring around him in a frozen state of shock, was jolted out of his silent observation and along with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, rose to head immediately to St. Mungo's.

Professor Dumbledore, however, stopped them by saying, "As of right now, I am afraid there is nothing anyone can do for him."

Remus halted abruptly and lifted his head slowly to stare directly into the Headmaster's sky blue eyes, "Don't you mean there is nothing we can do for him? Surely the Healers are working on whatever is wrong with him?"

"No, Remus," the wise old man said as he moved to stand closer to the werewolf. "I'm afraid that Harry is the victim to a very rare enchantment of some form. Until we can at least determine the extent of the charm, attempting any reversal spells could be extremely detrimental to his health."

The attention of the room was distracted from the rapidly paling Remus, who appeared to be trying to swallow a lump in his throat, by Hermione Granger, who had let out a strangled gasp.

Her hands flew to her mouth and she began to gnaw at her fingernails with ferocity. Ron could practically see her mentally filing through all of the enchantments she knew, trying to guess which one Harry had fallen victim to.

Apparently, Professor Dumbledore could see what she was trying to do as well. "I am sorry, my dear," the aged Headmaster said sadly, "but I am afraid that the style of the curse and all the revealing spells we have tried on it have enlightened us only to the fact that the spell was most likely developed as far back as the Age of the Founders."

"The knowledge of that time period, we had thought, was lost to us all; however, the Acclarocantio spell does not lie, and the only thing we were able to determine from the usually quite informative spell, was the enchantment's rough date of origin. We have no inkling as of yet what the incantation for the spell is, what it is doing to Harry, who cast it, and most importantly, how to reverse it."

Ginny let out a sigh that sounded very much like a sob and Neville Longbottom reached his hand across the lap of the static Luna Lovegood to give the youngest Weasley's hand a squeeze. Neville knew that no matter how much she claimed she was "long over" Harry, and no matter how many new boyfriends she paraded around the Common Room (much to Ron's annoyance), Ginny Weasley would always have a special place in her heart for Harry Potter.

Whether she held that place for the daring young man who had rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets, or for her first and only love, he did not know.

Taking into consideration the cold stares she was sending in the direction of that Blaise Zabini girl, Neville was willing to bet that at the very least, it was a combination of both.

But for the sakes of Harry, Ginny's current boyfriend Dean, Zabini, and Ginny herself, Neville sincerely hoped that he was mistaken.

The kind Gryffindor felt Ginny squeeze his hand tightly back before she stood rather abruptly, and angrily marched the short distance to the chair in which Blaise was sitting.

Carefully squeezing herself in the space between the round table in front of Blaise's chair and the girl herself, the redhead leaned forward a bit, placed her hands on the arms of the plush chair, narrowed her eyes, and looked down at the Slytherin mercilessly. A trick she'd learned from her mother, the glare of a Female Weasley was a surefire way to force something out of even the most stubborn of people.

"Alright then," Ginny began snottily, "tell us what you know."

"Virginia Weasley!" her mother cried indignantly, "Behave yourself or no matter what Professor Dumbledore says, I will have you return to the Gryffindor Common Room faster than you can say 'Hippogriff Medley'!"

Ginny at least had the grace to look a bit ashamed as she slowly stood tall and removed her hands from the Slytherin's chair. The hot-headed young teen did not, however, move from her position in front of the seated girl.

The room was silent for a moment before the gruff voice of Mad-Eye Moody said to Blaise, "The lady has a point. The sooner you tell us what you know, the sooner we can act. If Potter needs our help, sitting around here talking in circles won't get us, or him, anywhere."

Surprisingly, Blaise found herself looking to the Headmaster, who smiled at her benignly over his half-moon glasses. Though the ever-present twinkle was clearly present in his eyes, the aged wizard did not say a word. He simply walked over to the round table positioned slightly in front of Blaise's chair, and gestured to the wooden oval basin resting in the center of the table.

The wooden container had intricate carvings of runes etched along the sides and Blaise noticed that when she stared at them for a long enough period of time, they seemed to shimmer before her eyes.

A fascinating effect, and for the first time since third year, Blaise found herself wishing she had taken Ancient Runes instead of Arithmancy.

Professor Dumbledore's voice brought her back to reality. "What you see before you," the Headmaster said to the assembled witches and wizards, "is an ancient tool by the name of a Perlustrare."

Several Order members started muttering to each other at the announcement, and Hermione Granger stared at Blaise with wide eyes. Her mouth worked silently for a brief moment, before she began to whisper furiously to her irritating boyfriend, Loony, Longbottom, and the Weaslette.

When the four separated, Blaise noted that both Weasleys were staring at her in a cross between shock and grim satisfaction. And it took every single bit of effort and pure Slytherin skill for the girl to keep her face expressionless.

'Maybe I should just act like I know what I am about to do,' she thought, but then upon seeing the eyes of her godfather narrowing fiercely at the Headmaster, she decided that that idea may not be the best.

Severus glared at Professor Dumbledore - openly - with the same ferocity he glared at Harry. It was not a good sign. Not good at all.

Draco obviously did not know what a Perlustrare was either, as his eyes were darting around the room gauging reactions just as hers were.

Blaise's eyes rested on the very pale blue orbs of Luna Lovegood, who for the first time, was looking at her with a vague sort of emotion in her eyes. Blaise couldn't remember the skittish Ravenclaw ever observing her with anything other than a vacant and eerily blank stare.

If it wasn't a bad omen that Loony Lovegood was now staring at her with something akin to fascination in her eyes, she didn't know what was.

She looked to the so-called "greatest wizard of the age" for an answer, and was surprised to find that he was staring not at her, but at what seemed like anything or anyone else.

He was, of course, doing it very subtly, but Blaise wasn't a Slytherin for nothing. Much to Harry's annoyance, she could read body language almost as well as she could read Latin, which was indeed quite impressive.

'He doesn't want to tell me,' she realized immediately. 'Professor "the-only-one Voldemort-ever-feared" Dumbledore can't look me in the eye and tell me what I am about to undertake.'

"Sod it all to hell," she muttered under her breath, and much to her disgust she heard the Weasley snort - very much like a great fat pig - in response.

"Well," Professor Dumbledore said, clearly addressing Blaise but still allowing his periwinkle eyes to wander around the room aimlessly. "For those of you that are unaware, a Perlustrare is a variant of the Pensieve. Both are receptacles used to hold memories. The main difference between them, however, is that while Pensieves hold thoughts for an indefinite period of time, a Perlustrare can only be used for a few hours. Additionally, unlike Pensieves, Perlustrares can only hold thoughts that deal with one main focus point."

Finally, Draco interrupted. "Wait," he drawled ponderingly, seeming to forget for a moment that he was politely addressing the Headmaster - an occurrence that was unheard of in Draco's world.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore responded with a small smile at the blonde boy.

It may have been her imagination, but Blaise thought the Headmaster's voice seemed a bit too relieved at the disruption for her taste.

"If a Perlustrare can only be used for a few hours, what good is it? Why would you need to store someone's thoughts on only one topic for such a short time when with Pensieve, you could store as many as you wanted, related to as many ideas you had, and with no time limit?" Draco asked slowly.

Hermione Granger smirked slightly before she opened her mouth to respond... only to be beat to the punch.

"Because a Perlustrare's main function is not really to store memories for the later viewing, they are used to make the memories of one witch or wizard easily viewed by a group," a distant and flowing voice answered from the other side of the room.

Draco furrowed his brow and Luna's faint voice continued, "They are commonly used in trials of the Wizengamot, which is where I assume the Headmaster got it from."

Blaise saw the Headmaster's faint nod toward the Ravenclaw as he stood opposite the small table before her, and touched the sides of the Perlustrare. To Blaise, it looked as though the Headmaster was encouraging the bizarre girl to continue explaining.

And so she did. "Witnesses to the event in question usually have to undergo a series of complex spells before adding their memories of the occurrence to the Perlustrare. The device then takes the memory and, in a way, expands it. It usually takes a little while, but once it is done, the judge can activate it. To those in the court room, it feels like they have all been transported inside the memory. The reality is that the memory transplants itself over the surroundings of those viewing it. Of course the fascinating feeling Pensieves create - that wonderful feeling of falling into the world of memories - is lost. Bogra the Bohemian wanted to give people the sensation of falling off of a cliff, but he couldn't create it with the Perlustrare. Daddy says the wind carried him away after that."

After this rather long-winded explanation, and accompanying story, all those in the room were staring at the dazed looking Ravenclaw, most with raised eyebrows. Luna, in response, idly plucked her wand out of her hair - where it had been doubling as a pin for her hair - and twirled it around her fingers a few times.

Hermione stared at the dirty blonde girl silently. The bookworm's face was expressionless, but if one looked closely, it was evident that she was more than a bit miffed at the unique girl. Sure she had explained basically the same thing to Neville, Ginny, and Ron a few seconds before, but the Prefect thought that she had made it pretty clear that she wanted to answer the Slytherin.

No, it wasn't because she enjoyed being an insufferable know-it-all, as Professor Snape was constantly claiming, but it was mainly because it was Malfoy who asked the question, and after the ceaseless name calling over the past few years, Hermione had taken to getting back at him simply by knowing more than he did about... everything.

The bushy-haired girl had to resist the childish urge to stamp her foot on the ground; she chose, instead, to try to re-capture her moment of revenge.

"The Perlustrare is truly a fascinating device, as well because of how much one can see with it. For instance, in the 1955 Wizengamot case of Ricotty vs. Quinlen, witness Velma Schuter was gagged and tied in a corner of a rather large suite of an inn while Jonah Quinlen attacked Georgina Ricotty. She wasn't even within viewing range of the incident, but using a Perlustrare, the court was able to watch the entire attack.

"They were able to see it simply because it occurred at the same time and in the same place as where Velma was - not because she had an actual memory of seeing it. It would have been possible for the court to see the event occurring with a Pensieve, but all the members of the jury would not, I'm sure, have had the inclination to climb into one in order to view it. The most intriguing thing about the 1955 case was the fact that Velma fell unconscious for a period of time and yet the memory continued to play out. Now that, a Pensieve could not do. A Perlustrare is among the most advanced and perfected magical devices," Hermione concluded with a snide look toward Malfoy, who was glaring at her furiously.

She resisted the urge to sneer back, as it would have been rather un-lady-like, but was caught by surprise when she realized that the elder Weasleys, Tonks, Remus, Professor McGonagall and especially Professor Snape were looking at her with expressions of faint - or in the case of the acerbic Potions Master, blatant - disapproval.

'What did I do wrong?' Hermione wondered as she stared at the faces around her. Her eyes wandered to Ron, Ginny, and Neville who looked just as clueless as she did, and finally to Luna who was staring directly at the center of the room with an almost sad look on her face.

Hermione followed the girl's gaze and found her eyes resting on Blaise Zabini whose face was completely expressionless, but her eyes clearly showed the world her shock, disgust, and a tiny bit of... was that fear in those honey brown eyes? She hadn't looked like that after Luna explained it. 'Maybe, considering the circumstances, the court case example wasn't the best I could have used...,' Hermione thought.

'Still, what's she got to hide?' Hermione thought annoyed. 'Harry could be dying right now and she wants to quibble over the fact that she's going to have to reveal the details of their relationship with Harry to all of us? His closest friends? Oh please, get over it.'

After a few long moments of silence, Alastor Moody cleared his throat gruffly and spoke. "Well, girl," he said addressing the detached looking Slytherin sitting in the center of the room, "are we going to get this over with?"

In an instant Blaise's eyes, which had been revealing a great deal without her knowing it, narrowed furiously, and she raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow slowly, "Forgive me, Mister Moody," she said in exaggerated and clearly mocking respect. "I had to collect my thoughts for a moment. You do want them to be clear and precise for your viewing pleasure, correct?"

Draco didn't even try to hide his snort of approval and though Minerva gave him a pointed look for doing so, Professor Snape couldn't resist smirking with a bit of pride.

Moody's swiveling electric-blue eye zoomed around from where it had been staring out the back of his head to focus in on her when she spoke. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment before Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands lightly and got Blaise's attention.

"Yes, Professor?" the Slytherin girl asked politely to the man whom she had the nearly irresistible urge to behead at that precise moment. "What do I have to do?"

"Well, as Miss Lovegood explained, you must go through a series of spells both to prepare your mind and to isolate all the memories and thoughts related to Harry. This will make it much easier to guide them out, and should we manage this task properly, the Perlustrare will not pick up any more memories than needed. As you have been informed, the device captures a great deal about the surroundings of each memory and then expands it, which is why it is impossible to store as many thoughts in it as a Pensieve."

Blaise nodded silently, before asking in a voice laced with the tiniest bit of hope and insecurity, "Is there any way, Professor, that we can narrow the subject down?"

The old mage's eyes softened as he stared at the Slytherin. "I am afraid, Blaise," he said slowly, "that as we do not know exactly when Mr. Nott provided Voldemort with the information he needed, why he provided the information, how he obtained it, or exactly what he had to do with the spell currently on Mr. Potter. We must see everything to try to glean any clues from it that we can. I am sorry, my dear, but anything related to Harry, we must view."

Tonks, whose currently bright orange eyes had been focused ponderingly on the floor during all of this talking, looked up suddenly and began to speak, "What does Nott have to do with-" but she was interrupted quickly.

"Why are we making this such a big deal?" Ron Weasley exclaimed, highly irritated that the interrogation was taking so long. "If she has nothing to hide than this shouldn't be such a terrible experience for her! How can you all stand here and think she had nothing to do with Harry being cursed when she clearly doesn't want to do anything to help him get better?"

Most of the Order members in the room stared at Ron in disappointment and shook their heads. Professor Snape looked about ready to murder the temperamental red head while Draco's fists were clenched so hard it looked as though he was about to draw blood from his palms.

Mrs. Weasley had sprang from her chair and opened her mouth, furious words of punishment on the tip of her tongue.

No one, however, took action faster than Blaise. She was on her feet in an instant, and in a matter of seconds, had her wand out and pointed straight at the Weasel's heart.

"Until the day comes," she said in a deadly tone that spurred several Order members to take out their own wands in case she needed to be restrained, "that you have to display to a room filled with strangers and several known enemies all the painful, joyous, and torrid details of your romance with the Mudblood over here, I suggest you keep your disgusting mouth closed before I curse you so badly that Harry will be the last concern of anyone in this room."

Just about all of the Order members had glared at her for her use of the derogatory term in describing Hermione, and some had even taken out their wands in response to her open threat.

However the conniving Slytherin and the hot-headed Gryffindor did not notice any of this. The two had forgotten that they were in a room containing their teachers, parents, and even their Headmaster. The intense hatred they felt toward each other had taken command over their common sense and they each threw cutting remarks at the other hastily, never considering who else was listening.

Ron's face had turned bright red at the mention of 'torrid details' and Hermione in the same sentence, and suddenly the youngest male Weasley gained a much greater understanding of why everyone felt so bad for what this girl had to do...

... but that didn't mean he listened to the part of his brain that supplied intelligence.

"So what if we run across a few private details here or there? If you and Harry are really," here the young wizard paused before chuckling lightly, as though struck by a thought so ridiculously untrue that it was humorous, "in love, then you would deal with your embarrassment and do what you can to help him. Unless, it's as I suspected, and your so-called relationship with Harry is nothing more than a bunch of heated rendezvous in broom closets on lonely nights. You are a fairly beautiful girl after all, and I can understand if after last year, Harry needed a few quick-"

The end of Ron's statement was cut off by several events occurring at once.

First, came a series of loud exclamations. Molly and Arthur Weasley had turned an red color that perfectly matched their hair, and were moving from their chairs to approach their foul-mouthed son and give him quite a talking-to; Molly had already started yelling at him as she approached the young man.

The other Order members were a mix of shocked faces staring at the boy they thought they knew to be polite and well-mannered in surprise, or yelling at the idiot for his comments.

Once he reacquainted himself with the idea that there were lots of other people in the room listening to what he and Zabini were saying, Ron appeared a bit taken aback by the loud outcry his remark had gained.

'Well, well, well,' he thought annoyed, 'It seems that from a Slytherin, the Order can accept rude comments, but when one of their own Gryffindors fights back with words just as cruel everyone gets their knickers in a twist.'

Even the portraits, it seemed, had something to say, as the outraged voices of several Headmasters and Headmistresses of the past blended together in a cacophony of yells and threats.

One Headmaster, however, made sure he was heard over the din as he remarked with a bone chilling coldness, "You, young man, are out of line. Behavior such as you displayed is fitting, not for a 6^th year student at the finest academy of Wizardry and Witchcraft in the world, but common filth unfit to grace the bottom of this fine Slytherin's boots. I request that you kindly learn to speak properly and politely in the presence of a lady such as Ms. Zabini here, or learn not how to live without a tongue..."

Ron heard the icy words of Phineas Nigellus a split second before his chest was hit with a staggering force that blew him clean out of his chair and into the stone wall of the office with a sickening smack.

All motion in the room halted for a moment as several pairs of eyes turned slowly from the young redhead, whimpering in pain on the floor, to the raven-haired witch, whose wand was still directed at the spot where Ron had been sitting moments before.

For the first time since she had entered the Headmaster's office Blaise Zabini was not even bothering to try to hide exactly how she felt.

Her brown eyes appeared to have taken on a darker and much more sinister shade as she glared at the Weasel at her feet. Her wand was clenched so tightly in her hand that her knuckles were steadily turning white; and while she appeared to be trembling ever-so slightly, her wand hand was perfectly steady never wavering an inch from his heart.

If she had things her way, the boy would be writhing in pain from a lot worse than a simple Blasting Spell. It was a spell typically used on brick walls, but when Blaise had shot it at him she hadn't really cared what effect it would have if sent towards a human.

'He appears to be alive though,' she thought, disappointed that he hadn't at least been knocked unconscious. 'Ah, well, there's always next time.'

While everyone's eyes were still locked on the Slytherin before them Draco took his chance to strike. For the first time in his life preferring Muggle means of inflicting pain rather than magical, he swiftly walked over to where the Weasel was still squirming on the floor and punched him straight in the nose, which promptly broke with a loud crack.

From his portrait, Phineas Nigellus applauded the Malfoy heir's actions, despite Headmaster Dumbledore's repeated shushing.

When Draco got down on the ground and continued to pound his fists into various parts of Ron Weasley though, Professor Dumbledore was too busy trying to aim a spell to split them up to stop the applause for Draco, which had spread to include the other former Heads of the school.

By the time Draco and Ron were separated, the redhead had a broken nose and a few bruises already beginning to form. Draco, though, only had a few scratches which he got not from Ron, but from the Weasel's little Mudblood girlfriend trying to pry him off her arse-faced boyfriend.

For his part, Ron had barely been able to fend off the blows as Blaise's Blasting Spell had nearly crushed several of his bones with both the impact of the spell and the resulting slam in to the wall.

It was a lot more painful than it may have appeared. Ron was particularly concerned about the aching feeling he had around his ribcage, particularly over his heart - the exact spot the Slytherin's wand had been trained to.

It hurt like hell, but if the spell did one good thing for Ron, it was the fact that his head was hurting so much that he couldn't properly hear the yells of his mother and father when they at last reached his battered form on the ground.

Ron did, though, find it slightly amusing that they both were scolding him as concerned tears streamed from his mother's eyes and his father carefully picked him up to take him to the hospital wing.

Honestly, parents just need to make up their minds! His brain was in too much pain to bother to try to figure out if they were angry at him or distressed at his condition.

As he was being carried away like a broken doll, he caught sight of Blaise Zabini standing in the center of the room, her wand trailing after his heart steadily. Her eyes were fierce and focused on him solely.

Ron stared silently at her willing his brain to think of something stinging to say as a parting remark - something to let her know that she had won this round, but he would be back, ready and raring to fight soon. Anything that would express his hatred for her and all things Slytherin.

An appropriate phrase was needed, that would cruelly sum up his feelings about her and her evil ways. He opened his mouth and much to his own self-disgust his tongue lolled out of his mouth a bit before he got his mind to overcome the pain and work his mouth properly.

Once he felt he had a good enough grasp of his brain to talk, he took a breath and eloquently said, "Eeeugh!"

Blaise Zabini smirked at his plight.

Draco, from his position standing near Professor Snape, said, "What's wrong, Weasley? Cat got your tongue?"

Arthur tried to quickly carry his son out of the room without any further trouble, but before he could get him out, Blaise said to Ron, "The next time you attempt to undermine or belittle my relationship with your best friend, you should think about exactly which two parties you are insulting when you do so."

Ron's brain, though in some kind of pain induced state of incapability, managed to comprehend that idea fairly quickly and his eyes lowered in shame.

He had unknowingly insulted his best friend. The same best friend he had been trying to defend and protect. The very same best friend who was in the hospital suffering while he was wasting time arguing.

The Order members in the room stared at the girl before them in shock as Ron was finally taken out of the room, followed by a fretting Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley. The same thoughts ran through all of their minds.

Apparently there was a lot more under this girl's composed and unfeeling exterior, than they had thought. While none in the Order had expected the Slytherin to go along with everything they wanted her to do, the knowledge that she tended to lash out magically when insulted or annoyed was certainly not a welcome surprise.

Worse yet was the fact that when angry, it appeared that Harry Potter's girlfriend was a magical force to be reckoned with.

This was going to be harder than they had thought.

Now... why was that not at all surprising?