A/N: This is the rough draft. I'm being lazy and just throwing it out there. So, if there are any mistakes, point them out to me and I'll get them sooner than later. Review if you want.

Oh, and I'm not sure if there will be a special someone for dear Ronnie. I really haven't thought too far into this story yet, heh.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

He had never been as successful as Bill, or as free-spirited as Charlie, or as smart as Percy, or as funny and charming as Fred and George, but he had to admit, he was more adventurous than the five of them, even if it wasn't by choice. It was all because he, Ronald Bilius Weasley, was lucky enough to become best mates with Harry Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding World, when the two of them had boarded the train for their first year of Hogwarts. It was love at first sight... Brotherly love, that is. And maybe he had been a little starstruck. But, c'mon, it wasn't every day that you met a celebrity.

Because of Harry, Ron had gotten into more life-threatening situations than he ever imagined. His brothers certainly couldn't say they fought a mountain troll and helped save the sorcerer's stone in just their first year of Hogwarts. Actually, Ron didn't think any student could say that besides him, Harry, and his other best friend Hermione, and that thought made him grin importantly.

He wondered if he would enjoy the little adventures they went on if he didn't have Harry's bravery or Hermione intelligence to rely on, if he was by himself. It was hard to think about, since the three of them did almost everything together (they were the magical "Golden Trio," after all). He knew Harry was on his own a lot, with facing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Triwizard Tournament, and the Dursleys, but he's Harry. Ron wasn't sure he'd be as strong as Harry if he was in his small shoes.

Now that he thought about it,––

"Ronald!"

Ron's head snapped up abruptly.

"Have you listened to a word I've said?" demanded Hermione Granger as she stood in front of him with her arms crossed angrily over her chest.

Not one. He had been too lost in his own thoughts to listen to her, something that was happening a lot lately, not to mention it was hard to pay attention when she got started on one of her rants, but he wasn't about to tell her that. He did have some sense. Not much, mind you, but some.

"Of course, 'Mione," he said with a roll of his eyes, as if the thought of him not listening was ridiculous.

The look she gave him clearly told Ron that she didn't believe him. "Good," she huffed, lifting her nose in the air ever so slightly. "Then I suspect you'll have no trouble with Professor Snape's essay." With that said, she stomped off towards the portrait hole.

He blankly stared at the spot where she had stood, and then he looked down at the parchment in front of him. There was nothing on it. His palm met his forehead as he cursed loudly.

"Hermione!" He scrambled out of his seat, hastily grabbing his blank essay and a quill, before taking off after her. "Wait for me!"

Exhausted, Ron found himself back on the seventh floor after searching almost the entire castle for Hermione. He loudly cursed Snape and his stupid homework. Normally he'd go to Harry after Hermione refused to help him for whatever reason, as Defense Against the Dark Arts was his best subject despite their ruddy teachers over the years, but Harry was with Dumbledore doing who-knows-what, and Ron had no idea when he'd be back. And Hermione had pulled a disappearing act.

So, basically, Ron was doomed unless he found his bushy haired friend.

The thought that he could always crack open a book and do the research himself never crossed his mind, mainly because he hated the library and had no idea where his DADA book was.

When Ron finally took in his surroundings, he realized that his feet had unknowingly taken him to the Room of Requirement. He hadn't initially planned on coming here - hadn't even considered it, really – but now that it was in front of him, he realized that his feet were bloody brilliant. And, luckily for him, Crabbe and Goyle weren't guarding the room in their Polyjuiced forms, which meant the ferret wasn't inside.

"Er..." He uttered, staring dumbly at the wall and wondering what he should ask the room to turn into. What did he need?

A room. He needed a room. 'Obviously, Ron,' he could hear Hermione's voice in his head, and he could just imagine the look she would give him if she were here.

He rolled his eyes. Right. Of course he needed a room. A room and some books – books on... He racked his brain for the topic of the essay. What had it been? Something dead, he knew that much... Dead and solid – Inferi! Of course.

As Harry had pointed out in class, Inferi, unlike ghosts, are solid. Predictably, Snape had absolutely hated his answer, which meant Ron would definitely have to write it in his essay somewhere just to spite the overgrown bat, even if it did bring down his grade. It wasn't as if the greasy git graded his work fairly anyway.

So, he would need a room and books on Inferi. He wondered if he could ask the room to give him someone who could help with his homework, too. He considered it for a moment. It was worth a shot.

'I need a room with books on Inferi and someone to help me with Snape's essay, thought Ron as he began walking back and forth in front of the wall. I need a room with books on Inferi and someone to help me with Snape's essay, I need a room with books on Inferi and someone to help me with Snape's essay.'

When he finished his pacing and looked up, a plain wood door stood in front of him. He grinned excitedly. This would be the first time he asked the Room of Requirement for something other than the D.A. headquarters, and he was anxious to see what else it could do.

With one hand firmly holding his parchment and quill, he eagerly reached out with his other to grasp the door knob and pull it open. He walked in and his eyes were assaulted by green. He stood rooted to the spot as he took in the room, barely aware of the door closing on its own behind him.

It wasn't a comfortable room in the least, with high ceilings and stiff-looking black and dark green leather sofas. It looked very... Slytherin-ish to Ron, even more so with the greenish tint coming from the light outside. Definitely not a room he would ask for, though he did spot the books he needed on a small table. Yet, somehow this room looked familiar, like he'd been here before... He looked around the large, cold room again.

Wait. He closed his eyes, and there behind his eyelids he could clearly picture an unmistakable blonde twelve-year-old boy sitting across from him, smirking smugly as he called Hermione a mudblood. And then it hit him.

He was in the Slytherin common room.

He grimaced in disgust and hurriedly turned back towards the door, but before he could make his escape, the door swung open, and Ron stumbled backwards to avoid being smacked by it.

In the doorway stood a tall boy with greasy black hair wearing Slytherin robes. He walked into the room with his head down, clearly unaware of Ron, and quietly closed the door behind him. He looked up, his onyx eyes widening briefly in shock as they landed on Ron, before shifting to a suspicious glare.

"How did you get in here?" demanded the boy, his hand surreptitiously going for his wand.

Ron reached for his own wand in return. "How did you get in here?"

The boy glanced down at Ron's robes. "Unlike you, I happen to be in Slytherin, so why would a Gryffindork," he scoffed, "ask for a Slytherin common room?"

"Is that where I am?" said Ron with feigned surprise. "I thought I was in Filch's room."

The boy's glare intensified, his hold on his wand tightening. Ron glared back, and in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but notice that there was something familiar about the boy's crooked nose and greasy hair

"Friend of the incompetent band of idiots, I take it? Only they could be that stupid," sneered the boy.

Ron's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. That was a new one; he had never heard "The Golden Trio" being referred to in that way before.

And how did this boy not immediately recognize him? That's what was really bothering Ron. He thought he had made a name for himself these past few years; he was Ron Weasley, Gryffindor prefect and Quidditch hero – not to mention Harry Potter's best mate.

Seeing Ron's confusion, the boy smirked. "You didn't actually think the Marauders were smart, did you?" He mocked.

Ron froze. The Marauders?