Author: Nox ()

A/N: I'm sooo sorry! I think it's been over a month since I last updated. I have good excuses, though! My computer is extremely screwed up right now, and I started working an 8 to 5 job for the summer! But you guys don't want to hear about that! You want the story! Well, here it is after much editing and rewriting (I kind of lost the first draft and had to redo it all)! I hope you enjoy! And thanks a bunch to those who reviewed the last chap, and to those who have put me on their fav or alert list!!! You all rule!! ; )

THREE:

It was a long while before Ron had the opportunity to ask Malfoy what the episode in the hallway with Pansy had been about. The first week of classes came and went quickly and the occupants of Hogwarts, again, fell into routine.

Snape proceeded to shoot as many venomous comments as was possible Harry's way, Hermione busied herself with schoolwork, Ron busied himself with avoiding schoolwork (a difficult task, considering it was seventh year), and the Slytherins roamed the halls bullying any unfortunate non-Slytherin who crossed their path.

The year seemed to be flowing along nicely. Nicely, that is, with the exception of the underlying tense feeling that seemed to be overtaking the school. Nothing had happened. No Voldermort, no Sirius Black fiasco . . . The year was turning out to be just as calm as the one before. And while calm and normal were usually wonderful things, they only bred apprehension and fear while a recently risen, highly powerful, muggle-hating maniac was on the loose. The majority of the descent wizarding world had enough sense to realize that, while the calm resided, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was most probably not sitting on his hands. He was planning something.

Harry, Hermione and Ron were all pretty sure that this "something" everyone was privately worrying over had already begun. During the first few weeks of classes the trio avidly read the Daily Prophet, but there was no more news about Lucius Malfoy's murdering spree, or about anything else out of the ordinary. The three friends also kept a closer eye than usual on the Slytherins, but other than the fact that both Draco and Pansy had seemingly lost their positions as figurative King and Queen of their House, the Slytherins continued to act like the nasty gits they were. No better. No worse.

"...Right?" Ron blinked. He was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Harry and Hermione, who were sitting directly across from him, were giving him concerned looks. Well, Harry looked slightly concerned. Hermione looked more mad.

"Huh?"

"I said tonight's going to be the last Halloween feast we'll ever attend at Hogwarts. It's a bit sad, isn't it?" The redhead tried not to roll his eyes. With graduation nigh, Hermione seemed to be thinking of every moment of the school year as a sentimental one. Ron, with the exception of the friends he'd made, had decided he'd gladly forget everything about his past few years at the Wizarding School. He figured he could do without memories of gigantic spiders, werewolves, and those invisible (to him, at least) thestral things.

"Yeah," he replied. "Sad." He noticed the half-eaten piece of toast he was holding and took a bite.

From across the table, Harry frowned in the redhead's direction. It wasn't often that Ron Weasley passed up the chance for an argument, most especially an argument with Hermione.

Ron had been acting a bit off all school year. In fact, Ron was giving Harry a very odd look right now...Catching himself, Harry grabbed at a glass of orange juice with the hand he'd been inching towards Hermione.

"I guess we should get to class," said Hermione, shouldering her heavy-looking school bag. Harry stood and also grabbed his bag, but Ron didn't move.

Hermione frowned. "We'll be late if we don't hurry. What is it Ron?"

"Just give me a second," replied Ron, studying the nearly-finished bit of toast he held. "Do you realize this will be the last piece of toast I'll eat before I go to our last Care of Magical Creatures class before our last Halloween feast? I think I need a moment of-"

Hermione smacked the back of Ron's head, and Harry lost the suspicious glint in his eye.

Draco wished his fellow Slytherins would get it over with and kill him already.

"Bloody hell!" The seventeen-year-old bit at his bottom lip and resisted the urge to grab at the shoe his stubbed toe was encased in and hop around on one foot. He'd been pacing around the common room, pulling at the sleeves of his white, collared shirt (he'd decided against wearing his robe to the Halloween feast), and the tip of his foot had collided with the leg of a chair. He glared at the offending piece of furniture before resuming his pacing.

/Pansy is taking forever./ He shot a withering look at the stairs leading up to the girl's dormitory. What could be taking her so long? He was sure that not even Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, the two divas of the school, took this long getting ready.

"Pansy?" he tried. He waited a second.

No answer. That could mean two things. It could mean that the girl hadn't heard him, or that she wasn't there. But where else would she be?

/Anywhere. Anywhere that isn't with the person who reminds her constantly of her parent's death./ Pushing the morbid thought out of his mind, Draco strained his neck to see around the bend in the stairs leading to the girl's dorms. He certainly wasn't going to try and go up there. Snape had spells set up to prevent that sort of thing.

The teen bit at his bottom lip some more, not noticing he was doing it until he tasted the coppery substance that was blood. He sighed. The damn lip thing had become a nervous habit. He'd started to do it right after the murders...

"Pansy?" Perhaps she'd decided to break their tradition of "staying together". All year the girl had been at his side. She'd been his constant companion since the episode that Ron had witnessed on the stairs. An angry and pushy companion, but one nonetheless.

Draco was grateful for her.

Instead of the immediate torture, humiliation, and out and out killing the two "traitors" had expected to be subjected to in the beginning of the school year, there had been nothing. The other Slytherins had kept their distance. With the exception of some biting comments, heated looks, and the obvious de-throning as "leaders" of their House (Draco had been replaced, apparently, by that prat Blaise Zabini), both Pansy and Draco had been completely and totally ignored. Anyone else might've been relieved and overjoyed. Draco and Pansy, who'd been raised in the dark presence of Voldermort worshipers, were nervous.

And lonely.

They both had been popular and important figures at Hogwarts for six years. Now they'd been forced into the background. "Pansy?" called out Draco. When there was no reply the blonde decided he should probably get to the feast. The girl was probably already there, sitting at the end of the Slytherin table and nibbling at her food.

Draco didn't understand the sudden pain in his heart. It wasn't as if they'd planned to walk together to the feast or anything. It wasn't as if Pansy was betraying him by no longer acting like one of his best friends.

He was so stupid. She'd been stuck to his side all year. Classes, free time, meals...he and Pansy had been doing everything together. The girl had probably grown sick of him.

It was surprising their unhappy companionship had lasted as long as it had.

Taking a last look around the common room, Draco spun and headed for the Great Hall.

"Stupid Flitwick."

Ron grumbled and cursed as he trudged through dim hallways and up familiar stairways. His fist was tight around the strap of the patchy school bag he was dragging behind him.

He couldn't believe it. Little Flitwick had kept him after class. Flitwick! And on Halloween!

It turned out even the charms Professor got upset when his students burst out laughing in the middle of important lectures.

Ron hadn't been able to help himself. Seamus could really tell a good vampire joke. Man, the way he'd changed his voice when he was describing that whole wooden stake thing...

The redhead stumbled, but caught himself before falling.

Alphabetizing all those charm books for Flitwick had exhausted him. He glanced at the wristwatch Hermione had given him last Christmas. It wasn't too late. Everyone would be at the feast already, but it would be going on for quite a while.

Maybe he'd catch a quick nap before eating. And if he ended up sleeping through the feast... Well, he wasn't Hermione. He most definitely wouldn't be heartbroken about it.

Having decided what he wanted to do, Ron slightly altered his course and headed for the Gryffindor Tower.

He made it there fairly quickly, mumbled the password to a dozing Fat Lady, and stepped into a deserted common room.

He threw his bag in the general direction of the seats where he, Harry, and Hermione usually did their studying (he knew for a fact that no one would bother to steal his threadbare school bag and his tons of unfinished homework) then headed up to his bed.

Just as he was reaching for the knob of the door that led into the seventh year boy's dormitory, the redhead heard an exclamation of surprise. Or maybe it had been fear? Either way, it sounded a lot like Harry. Ron pulled his wand from its usual place in his pocket and listened closely, his ear against the door.

There was a moment of nothing, then gasping. Or panting. Probably Harry having another one of his Voldermort nightmares. But why would the bespectacled boy be sleeping now, when he was supposed to be at the feast?

Nervous, his heart pounding, the youngest Weasley brother gripped his wand tightly. He turned the knob and pushed open the door.

It took him a few moments to realize exactly what it was he was seeing.

Harry and Hermione were on Harry's bed. Hermione was very nearly in Harry's lap. Their arms were wrapped around each other. They were kissing. Kissing very, very heatedly. Spit, and tongues, and everything. The sound of Ron's wand hitting the floor, having been dropped from suddenly loose fingers, brought their snogging to a stop.

It seemed as if the world was moving in slow motion for a moment. Harry and Hermione turned to stare at him. It took a second before their eyes got wide and their mouths got wider in surprise. Hermione, relinquishing her hold on Harry, hopped up. She ran nervous hands over her wrinkled robe. Her mouth moved. Her mouth opened and closed. But she couldn't seem to form any words.

Harry snapped out of his stupor first. "Ron." He opened his mouth to say more. To explain.

Ron didn't listen. The anger and the hurt he'd been repressing all school year had suddenly sprung to the surface. Tears began to pool in his eyes and his hands began to shake. His head hurt, and his heart hurt, and he felt nauseous. Ron didn't wait for Harry to explain. He didn't need Harry to explain. His best friend was going out with the girl he loved. The girl he loved was in love with his best friend. And the two people he trusted most in the world had kept something from him. The redhead didn't need to listen to anybody, or wait for anybody to explain. He understood perfectly.

Ron turned and ran.

Pansy hadn't been in the Great Hall. Draco had taken his now usual seat, which was a good distance away from any of the other seventh year Slytherins, and had managed to force down a glass of pumpkin juice before worry forced him up and out of the noisy, decorated Hall.

He'd noticed that Millicent Bullstrode and a few other sixth and seventh year Slytherin girls besides Pansy were missing from the House table, and that didn't bode well.

He'd gone back to the Slytherin House first, just in case, but she wasn't there. Draco's stomach had clenched with fear when he'd seen that none of the other girls that had been missing from the House table were there either. Next, he'd wandered around peaking into empty classrooms, hoping to catch a glimpse of the pug-faced girl. But she was nowhere to be found.

The platinum-haired teen was on the second floor peering behind a statue of a goblin when he felt hands grab the back of his shirt. He was slammed, face first, into the wall. His forehead took the brunt of the hit. He felt something warm and wet running down his face before he was roughly spun around.

Crabbe, who now had a bruising grip on his right shoulder, had done the slamming. Blaise was smirking like an asshole, Goyle and a huge sixth year Slytherin Draco had forgotten the name of flanking him.

"Looking for someone?" Draco was sure that Blaise's mocking, self-important, smug little sneer was about a hundred times more annoying than his own.

The blonde didn't answer right away. He didn't know how to answer. Should he play it cool? Should he act innocent, like he didn't know why in the hell his long-time companions looked like they wanted to tear him to pieces?

"Where's Pansy, asshole?" Smooth. Real smooth.

Crabbe squeezed his arm a little tighter. Snarling, Blaise punched him in the gut. Draco doubled over, gasping. The only thing that held him up was the beefy fist wrapped around his forearm.

"Don't worry about her, Malfoy. That little dog-faced bitch is with her old friends. Just like you're with us." Blaise turned and mumbled something to the sixth year.

While Zabini talked, Draco studied the four Slytherins through lowered lashes. They were all big. Even Zabini was huge. He wasn't at all like Draco, who had actually needed his bodyguards.

/I can't take them. No way. Not unless I can get to my wand./ He could feel the comforting weight of his wand in his back pocket. He wondered if he could get to it before-

His thoughts came to a halt when Blaise stopped his mumbling and turned back to Draco. The dark-haired teen didn't say anything. He just eyed the blonde before launching his fist, again, at the still-hurting stomach. He laughed when Goyle's grip proved to not be enough to hold up all of Malfoy's weight, and the boy fell to his knees.

"Oh, almost forgot." He leaned heavily on one of the kneeling Draco's shoulders with one hand while grabbing at the wand lodged into the blonde teen's back pocket with the other. Draco simultaneously ignored, and hoped he was imagining the slight brush Blaise's hand gave his backside before finally retrieving the wand.

"Let's go." At Blaise's words Goyle came forward and grabbed Draco's left arm and Crabbe, still at the blonde's side, again grabbed his right. Blaise strutted ahead and Draco's two former friends frog-walked him down the hallway. They all stopped in front of a closed, narrow door.

Draco figured it was probably some sort of closet for supplies. Then he realized they were probably going to put him in the closet. Having finally recovered enough from the punches to speak, he looked up at Zabini. "Why did you wait until now?" he asked. "And why are you stuffing me in a closet, instead of finishing the job?"

Blaise sneered that god-awful sneer. "I wanted you to know something was coming. I wanted you to get nervous as hell. And I'm not finishing the job because I want you and that Pansy bitch to suffer. I want to torture you both." He grinned, flashing white teeth.

Crabbe and Goyle let go of Draco's arms. The sixth year Slytherin uttered the unlocking spell and the closet door flew open. The blonde was pushed in before he could even register the fact that the inside of the closet was made up of complete darkness. His hands, splayed out in front of him, hit the wall. His legs hit something soft. The door slammed shut behind him.

"Rot in there, traitor!" There was hysterical laughter. Loud, at first. But after a moment it faded into the distance. They were gone.

Draco blinked into the darkness. It did no good. It was night, the halls were dark, this closet was darker. There was no light for his eyes to adjust to. He could hear his own heart pounding in his ears. His breathing was harsh and unsteady. His legs felt like they'd give out any second. But he didn't let himself sink to the closet floor.

Instead, he wondered why his hands had met wall when he'd been thrown in, but his legs had met something yielding and pliant. Like a body.

Draco tried not to panic, but it was hard. Was there a body in here with him? Maybe a dead body? A body of an unfortunate student who'd been stuffed in here by his or her own enemies long ago?

"Ohmygod, Ohmygod, Ohmygod." The blonde closed his eyes tightly, though it made no difference. His face felt sticky with drying blood that had fallen from the wound on his forehead. Perhaps he had a concussion. Perhaps he was imagining things.

"Malfoy?" asked a voice. The voice seemed to come from somewhere slightly below Draco's waist area. The dead body, or apparently not-so-dead body, had spoken.

Draco managed not to gasp in surprise. "W-Weasley?"

There was a pause during which both of them were most likely attempting to figure out what exactly was going on.

Ron coughed a nervous-sounding cough. "Malfoy," began the redhead, sounding very serious. Draco leaned closer to listen. "Is your crotch in my face?"

Ron hadn't known where he was running. And when his side had begun to ache and his chest had begun to burn, he'd failed to remember why he was running.

It wasn't as if he hadn't known about Harry and Hermione's relationship. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen them making out in Diagon Alley during summer break. So why was he running? Why hadn't he just told them that he'd already known? Why hadn't he just stayed and talked things out?

Shortly after these doubts had assaulted him his mind had provided a near-perfect image of Hermione in Harry's lap. Their lips touching...Ron had growled. Okay, so that was why. Because he hated them. He hated them both.

/Damn them./

He'd reached the second floor when he'd heard Harry call his name from somewhere not too far off.

They'd followed him.

Ron had panicked. He didn't want to face Harry or Hermione. That's why he'd ran away. Didn't they understand?

He'd darted behind a goblin statue before realizing that it was probably the most stupid hiding place anyone had thought of using in the history of wizard kind. His eyes had darted around. He'd spotted a door a little farther down the hall.

Harry's voice was getting closer.

Ron had sprinted to the door. He'd yanked it open, silently thanking Merlin that it was unlocked. He'd pulled the door closed and wiggled the knob just to make sure it was secure. Harry's voice was very close then. The redhead had held his breath.

"Ron!" A yell right outside the door. A pause. "Ron!" Another yell, farther away. It had worked.

The youngest Weasley brother had sighed in relief. He'd stayed put for a few minutes, listening to the sound of his own breathing. When he'd been sure that Harry was long gone, he'd felt around in the darkness for the knob, and pulled.

Nothing had happened. He'd pulled again.

/Shit,/ he'd thought. /I locked myself in./

And he had. And he'd slid to the narrow closet's floor. His back against the wall and his long legs spread out in an almost V (the closet was to small to allow a full V) in front of him. He'd listened and waited. He'd realized that if Harry or Hermione happened to come by, he'd have to yell for help.

/Wonderful,/ he'd thought, just before his increased exhaustion had overtaken him. He'd fallen asleep.

Ron had been abruptly awakened when the closet door had flown open, only to admit another person into the crowded space, before shutting again.

"Rot in there, traitor!" Someone had yelled this to the person who'd been pushed into the closet. The person had been standing. Ron had felt a presence just over his head.

There had been a pause with only harsh breathing for a long moment before the person, sounding terrified, had spoken. "Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod," the person had said, and Ron had immediately recognized the voice.

"Malfoy?" he'd asked.

"W-Weasley?" had come the timid reply. Ron had then realized where exactly the voice was coming from. Then had remembered that Draco was standing. Then had remembered how short Draco was. /Oh,/ he'd thought. /Damn./

"Malfoy," he'd said, in his no-nonsense voice. Draco had leaned closer then. He knew because his nose had brushed cloth. He'd moved his head back immediately. "Is your crotch in my face?"

He'd asked a few seconds ago. He was now tense, trying to figure out what exactly was going on, and waiting for an answer. He really shouldn't have run.

"What?!" That sounded like a sputter. Like Draco was shocked.

"It is, isn't it?" Ron pushed as far back into the wall behind him as was possible. "Your crotch is in my face?" A pause. "Could you maybe move, ferret boy?"

"Stupid git!" The reply was quick this time. The blonde sounded like his mean and viscous self. "This closet is tiny. What am I supposed to do?"

Ron shrugged, even though he knew Draco couldn't see it. "Turn around?" He was more comfortable now that Draco was insulting him.

A snort. "Oh, yes. That would work out well. Idiot Weasel. If I turn around my arse would be in your face! Besides, I'm leaning against the wall with my hands now. If I turn I'll have nowhere to lean."

Ron blushed, glad that Draco couldn't see him. He was trying not to think about what the position they were in now looked like exactly, and was feeling like an imbecile for suggesting the small Slytherin turn around. "Oh. Right."

"Can't you stand up?"

"The halls are deserted. It's nighttime. It's Halloween. And it's Friday. I don't fancy standing up in here all night and weekend."

Draco sounded angry. "Well neither do I! Most especially standing like this!" The blonde shifted his stance, and Ron felt the tip of a shoe brush against his thigh.

The redhead frowned. His long legs, with the exception of a slight bend in both knees, were still spread out V-like in front of him. His back was still against the wall. He sighed.

"Turn around."

"What?!" Again with the sputter.

"Turn around and slowly sit down. You can sit between my legs, and nothing will be in my face. Not even your hair, probably. Your so damn short."

Draco muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "asshole", but did turn around. "Tell me if I sit on your head or something," said the blonde, not sounding like he'd be particularly sorry about it. "I can't see anything." His voice sounded slightly slurred.

"Here," said Ron, not wanting to risk a traumatized head, before grabbing Malfoy's hips (still near the vicinity of his face), and pulling the boy down. Having been caught off guard, the blonde landed hard.

Ron heard an "ouch" and was surprised when Draco didn't tell him off for the action. He sat ramrod straight while the blonde got himself situated. When he felt a slight weight against his chest, tendrils of hair under his chin, and the touch of legs lined up against his own (he noted with amusement that Draco's V-legs ended well before his own) he allowed himself to relax.

/Great,/ he thought. /This is great./ So he was trapped, would possibly be trapped for three nights and two days, inside of a very small, dark closet with his arch nemesis. And Harry and Hermione, his two best friends, probably thought he was both a lunatic and a crybaby.

Running out on them like that...It was no wonder why they'd decided not to tell him anything.

"I know," said Draco suddenly, startling Ron from his thoughts. "Imbecile. Just cast Alohomora with your wand. Go on." His voice still sounded oddly slurred.

Ron bared his teeth into the blackness. "Brilliant, Malfoy. Just one thing. I don't have my wand, genius. You really think I wouldn't have used it by now if I had it? You, me, a closet? It isn't on my list of 'things I really enjoy doing'."

"You could've forgotten to use your wand. You are a big dullard, Weasel."

Ron chose to ignore the comment. "What about you?" he asked. "Why don't you use your wand?"

"They took it."

"Oh." A pause. "They? They who?" There was no answer. Ron remembered the shout he'd heard right after Draco had been pushed into the closet and the door had closed. /Rot in there, traitor. That was it./ "It was the other Slytherins, wasn't it? Because your mum was a traitor?"

"Shut up," breathed the blonde. "Shut up."

Ron knew he'd guessed right. The Slytherins were now beating up on the children of the traitors. It was not surprising, though the redhead found it hard to imagine Crabbe and Goyle being hostile to Malfoy, of all people.

He decided not to mention Malfoy's mother again. She'd been killed by her own husband, Malfoy's father, and Ron was pretty sure the blonde wouldn't fancy talking about her. Most especially not to him. He changed the subject. "Aren't you wondering why I'm in here?"

A bored sigh. "Not really. As I said before, you're a real idiot. It's no surprise you got yourself locked in a closet."

"Fine Malfoy, you prat."

With that, it became quiet. And the quiet dragged on for what seemed like hours to Ron, but was probably only thirty minutes at the most. Draco's head kept dropping against the redhead's shoulder, as if the boy was falling asleep before quickly jerking himself awake. The youngest Weasley brother could feel the soft, platinum hair tickling his chin.

"I walked in on Harry and Hermione kissing," Ron said suddenly, breaking the silence. He wasn't sure why he'd decided to tell Malfoy. He was either really bored or desperate for someone to talk to, considering he couldn't exactly talk to his best friends. And telling Malfoy didn't seem to be a problem. With the Slytherins beating up on him and the rest of the school pretty much completely ignoring him, he had no way to hold Ron's misfortunes over his head. Malfoy had no power.

"What?! That's disgusting. I certainly don't want to hear about scar-head and that little bookworm, Weasel."

Ron decided not to dwell on the fact that Malfoy hadn't used that awful mudblood word. He silently told himself that he did not believe that Malfoy's mother, nor Malfoy, had been fighting for the side of good. He silently told himself that he was not feeling sorry for Malfoy.

"It wasn't the first time I saw them kissing. I saw them before classes started when I was looking for school stuff in Diagon Alley. It was still weird walking in on them. What sucks is that I knew that they were keeping it from me. They didn't even tell me."

"The sons of bitches," said Draco. Ron couldn't tell if the other teen was being sarcastic, sympathetic, or if he was just glad at the chance to insult Harry and Hermione.

"So when I saw them I ran. They followed. I hid in here. And, well-"

"You got yourself locked in a closet?"

Ron hesitated, then sighed. "Yes."

"Dullard."

Draco's head listed to the side again, and fell against Ron's broad shoulder before the blonde quickly jerked up again.

Ron clenched his teeth in annoyance. "Your stupid girly hair is bugging me, Malfoy."

"Girly hair?!"

Ron reached down to smooth the blonde tendrils that were bothering him, but stopped short when his hand encountered Malfoy's forehead instead. He pulled his hand away, something wet on his fingers. "What the hell?" What was it? "Gross. What the bloody hell is on your forehead, Ferret?"

Draco's head had dropped to Ron's shoulder and stayed there. "Huh?" asked the blonde, sounding dazed.

Ron's eyes widened. Malfoy's voice had sounded slurred all along... "Malfoy," he tried. "Did the Slytherins hit you or something?"

"Uh..." he trailed off.

Ron tried again. "Did you get hit, Malfoy?"

"Got slammed 'gainst a wall," came the dazed reply. Malfoy seemed to be drifting to sleep.

"Maybe you shouldn't sleep," said Ron. His hands, which had been at his sides thus far, came up and wrapped around Malfoy's midriff tightly. He shook the other boy. "Stay awake for a while." He didn't want to get blamed for murder or something when they were found, after all. It wasn't pity, it wasn't that he believed Malfoy shouldn't be beaten. He didn't want to be blamed.

Right.

"Hmmm," said Malfoy.

Ron's limbs had started to hurt from being in the small space for so long. He was hungry. He was thirsty.

He should've been worried about more pressing matters. Like, how long could a person live without water or food? Was it more than three nights and two days?

But he didn't think about that. Instead, he concentrated on gently shaking Malfoy awake every time the blonde seemed as if he was about to drop off to sleep. Instead, he monitored the compact teen's breathing.

Deciding that conversation would be a good way to keep the Slytherin awake, Ron spoke up. "Malfoy? What happened in the hallway that day? Why is Pansy treating you like that? I mean..." He trailed off.

When Draco answered his drowsiness seemed to have disappeared. It was replaced with anger.

"She saw her parents murdered recently, Weasel. And not that's it's any of your business, but she hasn't been in the best of moods."

Ron ignored the harsh tone. "Saw? You mean Parkinson was there when...You mean she saw it happen?" This was definitely news to the redhead. After hearing about Malfoy's killing spree Ron, along with Harry and Hermione, had come to the conclusion that Narcissa and the Parkinson's had betrayed Lucius and Voldermort. The trio, however, had not believed that this betrayal had anything to do with Pansy's parents and Draco's mother working for the side of the light. Instead, they'd figured that the aristocrats had failed to do some evil deed their Dark Lord had wished them to, or had decided to take over the world for themselves, instead of following He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Evil or not, though, Ron didn't believe anyone should have to see their own parents murdered. Not even the horrible Pansy Parkinson.

"Malfoy?" Ron asked, eyes suddenly widening. "Did you see it happen?" It would make sense if the blonde had seen. The murders had taken place at Malfoy Manor, after all.

The blonde was tense. It seemed as if he was trying his hardest not to lean against Ron. He didn't answer. The redhead opened his mouth to ask again when the memory of the platinum-blonde Slytherin, leaning against the castle's stone wall, came to him. That first night back at Hogwarts, Malfoy's eyes had been red and puffy. Before he'd tripped Ron, he'd been crying. Probably crying for his mother, who he'd probably seen killed by his own father.

Ron shut his mouth and closed his eyes.

"Go to sleep," he snarled at the blonde, not liking the feeling of pity (pity for Malfoy) that seemed to be overtaking him. He said nothing else, and soon fell asleep to the soothing sound of Draco's soft breathing.

His arms stayed wrapped around the blonde's middle and, shortly after he'd fallen asleep, a comforting weight came, again, to rest against his chest.

"Where's Draco?"

Startled, Hermione dropped the fork she'd been picking at her fried egg with. Sitting directly across from her, Harry nearly spit out his mouthful of milk.

Pansy Parkinson had taken the formerly vacated seat next to Hermione. Her hair looked tangled, her eyes were unnaturally wide and bloodshot, and both her face and neck were riddled with bruises. Under the cover of the robe she was wearing, Hermione assumed Pansy was probably just as bruised. "Pansy?! What happened?!"

"I fell," muttered the girl.

Harry and Hermione just gaped at her. What else was there to do? The sight before them was surprising, and there was nothing they could really say. She was their "enemy", after all. They weren't supposed to be sympathetic about her falling.

Hermione was the first to recover from the shock of seeing Pansy looking so horrid, and moved on to acknowledge the shock she felt at seeing the Slytherin girl at the Gryffindor table. "What do you need, Pansy?"

The pug-faced girl scowled. "I'm looking for Draco. Have you seen him?"

Harry coughed. "Malfoy? No way. I mean...why?"

Pansy shrugged. "He still picks fights with Weasley. I thought maybe they had ended up in the hospital wing or something."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "No. Ron isn't in the hospital wing with anyone." Hermione knew this for a fact. Both she and Harry had checked when they hadn't been able to find their friend (maybe former friend?) the night before. They'd checked everywhere. "He probably skipped breakfast or something. Why don't you ask your friends about it?" She glanced over at the Slytherin table and missed Pansy's flinch.

Harry didn't miss it. And when he recalled Lucius Malfoy's murdering spree his internal investigator woke up. "When did you last see him?" He didn't care about Malfoy, but Ron, being as lucky as the redhead was, might've run into some trouble meant for the blonde. Or might've run into the blonde himself, which was trouble enough.

"Yesterday during our last class." She glanced around the Great Hall nervously. Millicent Bullstrode shot her a suspicious and dark look. "Listen, if you guys can ask Weasley about seeing him that would be grand. I've got to go." She stood and wandered towards the huge doorway that led out of the Hall.

Hermione and Harry looked at each other.

"That was odd," said Hermione.

"Yes. Odd," Harry agreed.

After another minute of unsuccessfully trying to focus on eating their breakfast, both seventh years stood and left the Great Hall.

Harry headed downstairs to check out the dungeons while Hermione headed, again, for the hospital wing.

They had to find Ron.