A/N: This chapter is new and I like to think, improved. I have been meaning to do this for sometime but as I explained in my note in 'A Day in the Life of Jack Granger', have been unable to do so. Once chapter seven is up, I can't promise regular updates as I only have Friday and Sunday free and I have homework that I need to do in that time. Including writing short pieces and sending them into comps. I will do my best but work comes first.

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Ron Weasley laid sprawled on his bed; a photo album was opened in front of him. With a sad smile he stared at the pictures. Most of them were from his time at Hogwarts, with Hermione and Harry. Hermione and Harry with their arms around each other's shoulders and waving, Hermione twirling in the snow, Harry flying around on his broomstick, He, Hermione and Harry posing, more of Harry and Hermione, a couple with himself in the background, always in the background… Harry would be arriving in a few days to stay for the last couple of weeks of the holidays. Harry was his best mate, but there were times he seemed to be more of a Weasley than Ron. There were so many people, talented people in his family, it was easy to feel lost and insignificant, like everything he did, his older siblings had done, or could do better. It made him feel stupid and inferior. Ron got up and closed the album with a sigh. He put it away and got into bed, picking his wand up from the bedside table.

"Nox," he extinguished the light and put his wand back on the table. "I wish there was only me," Ron sighed as he gave up his train of thought to sleep.

Draco Malfoy sat at his desk, brooding. He leaned back in his chair and stretched, scaring himself when he overbalanced. Managing to correct himself he looked around, making sure no one had seen his wild flailing. Reassured that he was indeed alone, his mind drifted to his last week. It had been horrible, horrifying in fact, not to mention disgusting. Draco's own mother was bad enough but her public displays of affection were restricted to behind closed doors. But Blaise… perhaps a good, strong reputation didn't matter so much when you did not come from such a prestigious family as the Malfoys. He had left Kings Cross with Blaise to spend the first week of the holidays with he and his family. Both of Blaise's parents had met them and hugged him, which is bad enough, but Blaise had actually let his mother kiss him. In public. Blaise's house was practically a cottage when compared to Malfoy Manor. Many of the Manor's rooms had not been used in years while when Draco had stayed with Blaise he had had to share his room. Meal times had been uncomfortable for him as Mr and Mrs Zabini had stared into each other's eyes like love struck teenagers. It was sickening...

"I wish I knew how love felt," he said aloud to himself, an intense longing filling his chest, surprising himself. Sneering at his own weakness he got up and went to bed.

Some spells are wishes; some wishes are spells,
Be careful what you wish for at the half stroke of twelve...

Ron snored, not noticing the timid poking at his side. Suddenly the door flew open with a bang and Ron shot up in bed, the hapless house-elf that had been trying to wake him was sent flying, squealing as it flew through the air.

"What? Uh, spiders?" he said as he slowly became conscious. His eyes focused on the man standing in the doorway and he fell off the bed. "Bloody hell!"

Lucius Malfoy's lip curled in disgust. "Please Draco; compose yourself. Honestly have I taught you nothing? When will you start acting like a Malfoy?"

"What?" Ron squeaked, his mind going into overdrive. Still being half-asleep didn't help matters.

"Get up!" Lucius barked as he strode towards Ron.

Ron scrambled backwards until his back hit the wall. How did I get here? Why am I here? Shouldn't he be torturing me by now? I will never talk! "What's happening?" he whimpered again. The shock of a voice that was not his own finally hit him and his stomach twisted in horror. What happened to my voice?

Lucius towered over him, waiting impatiently. He tapped his foot and raised an eyebrow as a sign of his annoyance.

Ron was confused. He was still half asleep and had no idea what the hell was going on. Having Lucius stand over him like that, with his brain still trying to digest exactly what was happening was too much. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable pain. It didn't come. He opened his eyes and with a mixture of fear and relief found the room empty. Alone now, Ron slowly stood and had a chance to take in his surroundings.

The bed he had fallen from was enormous; if he had been at the Burrow it would have taken up his whole bedroom. A house-elf must have made it while he had been distracted by Lucius. Pale green satin sheets poked out from underneath the dark green covers. The walls were decorated with snakes, identical to the one on the Slytherin shield. They were green on a light grey background. There was a rich, dark mahogany desk standing under the huge window looking out over immaculately manicured lawns. Ron went to the window and looked down, he was on the third floor of what could only be described as a mansion. He was in awe. His thoughts reminded him that he wasn't at home and brought some pressing questions with it. Like how did he get here? What happened? Perhaps most important of all, why had Lucius called him Draco? Was this some kind of sick joke? Some extremely elaborate joke... He turned back to the room. There were three doors, one opposite the window, one to his left next to a dressing table, hang on… dressing table? Ron went closer to investigate. It was similar in design to the large desk, made of the same dark mahogany wood but with the delicate lines and intricate patterns you'd expect to find on a vanity. The backboard was an attractive woman with her eyes closed, her head resting on a shoulder. Her arms reached down and around to embrace the mirror. The mirror. Ron glanced at his reflection and fell over his feet in his haste to back away. Platinum blonde hair, cold blue eyes… A trick mirror, it has to be a trick mirror. From his place on the floor he got a good look at the seat in front of the vanity and he crawled forward in amused fascination. For, in the fashion of the vanity, it was also carved to look like a woman, a kneeling woman, a naked kneeling woman. He cocked his head and peered… and mentally slapped himself. It is a chair, Ron, you pervert.

He got up and entered the room next to the dressing table. It was a bathroom. He strode in and almost slipped on the wet floor, it must have been mopped recently. He grabbed the sink to catch himself and looked up into the face of Draco Malfoy. This time he did lose his balance and landed hard on his backside.

"Ow."

Getting to his feet, and rubbing the sore spot, he found himself staring Malfoy in the face. He didn't want to believe it but there was no denying the horrible truth as he cautiously reached out and touched the mirror.

"Bloody Hell…" he murmured, feeling the cool glass under his fingertips.

He leaned in closer, until his nose almost touched the glass, touching his face. Malfoy's reflection mimicked him, eyes wide in horror. He pinched his cheek. "Ow!" he rubbed the spot, glaring at the reflection like it was its fault. Turning from the mirror, Ron cautiously peered into the bedroom, it was still empty. He crossed to the bed and flung himself on it. He was surprised at the softness for a moment, his thoughts churning in his head so fast he could hardly acknowledge them. They centred around, "Why, why, why? Oh God, why? How did this happen? Why me? Why Malfoy? Why?" and possibly a few more why's.

He lay there working himself up more and more, until a new thought invaded. What if Malfoy senior came back? I'd bloody well lock the door, that's what I'd do.

He got up and opened the door opposite the large window to find himself in a corridor of doors. He closed it again and… realised he was wearing pyjamas. Green silk pyjamas. With no pockets. He looked around, this thought overriding his confusion for the moment. Where is my wand? His search revealed a wand in a holster carved in the side of the bedside table. He recognised it as Malfoy's, he had had it pointed at him often enough. It sparked slightly when he picked it up making him think again about trying to do any spells with it at the moment. Turning in a circle, Ron walked to the door opposite the dressing table and opened the door. He discovered a room, the walls of which were lined with racks of robes, and a huge mahogany chest of drawers stood in the middle of the room likely to be filled with more clothes. At least he could get out of these horrid… well very nice but unfortunately coloured pyjamas. First going to the drawers and opening them until he found underwear, he was disappointed that there were no polka dot or other embarrassing items he could tease Malfoy about. He pulled out a dark grey pair of boxers and tossed them over his shoulder. Rifling through more drawers, he pulled out a white singlet tossing that in the direction of the boxers. He picked out a black t-shirt and found a pair of black trousers. Adding them to the pile of clothes he toured the robe racks, until he found one that he actually liked. It had been shoved in a corner behind the other robes and was a pale yellow, almost white. Satisfied, he pulled off the green pyjamas and hurled them to the floor. He put on the underwear trying to ignore the fact that Malfoy had worn them and pulled on the t-shirt and trousers. Slipping on the robe, he walked to the full-length mirror he had noticed on his search for a decent robe and his problem came rushing back to the forefront of his mind. Why, why, why…

The sounds ceased. A voice drifting through the ceiling said hopefully, "Whooo?"

His surroundings finally registered and he looked around in confusion and growing disgust. The walls of the room were plastered with pictures of the Chudley Cannons, all smiling at him. Clothes were strewed all over the floor and a couple of plates were piled in a corner that could have once held food which now seemed to have evolved into intelligent life. This was not his room. What the hell was going on? He got up and headed for the door, jumping sideways as something on one of the plates scuttled towards him. His foot caught on something and he fell flat on his face and smacked his nose on the floor. He cursed, sitting up and cupping his nose in his hands as his eyes filled with tears. The pain finally subsided enough for him to remember what he was doing. A feeling of apprehension grew as he completed the journey down the crooked staircase. There was a strange whirring and clicking sound coming from a nearby room. Something brushed past his foot and he looked down to see a dustpan sliding away, the matching brush in pursuit. Breakfast sounds of sizzling food, and clinking cutlery came from the end of the hall. At the foot of the stairs he turned around to see the front door. Refusing to look anymore at his surroundings, he went straight out it and bumped into someone.

"Ow! Watch it Ron!" It was Ginny Weasley. "Ron, this is Sarah Peterson. I met her in town and recognised her from school."

Draco glanced at the girl behind Ginny without really seeing her. "How fascinating," he replied with no trace of sincerity. Why was the Weasel brat talking to him? Neither he nor her had ever tried to hide their strong feelings of hatred towards each other.

Ginny glared at him a moment before walking away, Sarah in tow.

It was at this moment that the impact of what she had said hit Draco like a ton of bricks. She had called me Ron. All of a sudden he needed a mirror. He pulled at his hair, tugging it over his face, his eyeballs rolling upwards as he tried to catch a glimpse of it. Seeing the red tinge of the tips, transformed his desire to see his reflection into desperation. He searched for his pocket mirror to discover his pockets were missing. He was wearing maroon checked pyjamas. Maroon…

"No," he whispered. It came as a sob, the horror of his situation overwhelming him for a moment.

The shining mirror-surface of a pond caught his eye but as he walked around it's edge towards the front gate he refused to look down, he suddenly didn't want to know. So he failed to see where the bank receded suddenly and with a horrible wrench to his ankle he slipped and fell into the water sideways. The pond was quite shallow. If Draco had stood in the middle the water would have come to his chest. There were a number of fish and a clump of weeds nearby. Draco closed his eyes as he used his arms to turn around and manoeuvre his legs to push off the bottom. What felt like cold weeds wrapped around his ears. Opening his eyes, Draco found himself face-to-face with a small grindylow. His oxygen was beginning to run out, bracing his feet on the bottom of the pond he desperately pulled but the grindylow's grip was too strong. Everything he had learnt about dealing with them flew from his mind in his panic. His flailing arms happened to connect with the grindylow's fingers and it suddenly let go barring its teeth at him. His feet still braced and being unprepared for the sudden release, Draco burst through the surface with such force he almost lost his footing. He dragged himself from the water and lay gasping until the rushing in his ears faded and he could hear hysterical laughter. The twins were leaning against the garden wall, tears streaming down their faces and hardly able to stand.

"Ha-have a nice swim?" asked the one with a large 'G' on his sweater, tears in his eyes. Draco guessed he was George.

"He's finally taken a bath!" Fred exclaimed with exaggerated astonishment grabbing hold of his twin for support.

"Have you seen the pond lately? I doubt it is an improvement."

"What are you saying? Anything would be an improvement!"

They broke out into laughter again.

"You dare talk to me like that, you filthy Bl-"

"Now Ron, there's no need to get snippy," Fred scolded sternly.

George stood nearby splitting his sides with laughter. "You should have seen yourself!" he widened his eyes, puffed out his cheeks and flailed his arms around comically, "That was almost the funniest thing I've ever seen you do!" he gasped, he collapsed and rolled on the ground, unable to control his hilarity. "Ron," he managed to gasp. "You're going to kill me."

"Yes. I am," Draco muttered seriously. He was a Slytherin, he would bide his time.

He felt a wave of helplessness. Why was this happening to him? Nothing he could ever do would justifiably call for such hellish punishment. What had he done to deserve this? A wizard of his standing trapped in a Blood-traitor's life. A poor Blood-traitor. Even worse, the Weasel's.