Disclaimer: Still not mine, even after all this time.
A/N: (Hides head in hands and cries) Oh...my... goodness. You all have my deepest apologies. It has been over 18 months since I last updated this fict, and it just kills me to the point of embarrassment. I won't really offer excuses, other than life and sever writers block happened. However, with the creative muses driving me forward in Perfect World, and Foolish Games, my other ficts are getting revamped and picked up again. It's nice to be back in the game again. So I do hope you enjoy. And if you are a return reader... gods I love you!
Warnings: Mentions of torture and blood, confused Harry, prat Ron, and softening Draco. I guess it might be considered a tad OOC?
No flames, please. But reviews are welcome.
-3- Highly Confused
Ronald Weasley was the youngest son in a large family. As such he had been babied by his mother and slightly ignored by his father. He had endured countless pranks from his twin brothers and the nagging of his sister. The only thing he could say he had done out of the ordinary was to make friends with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. It had been his good fortune to find the little boy on the Hogwarts Express and claim his hand in friendship. Sure, his siblings had followed suit, by, as a spoiled child would say- he saw him first.
With this friendship came adventure. Dangerous, life threatening adventure. At first it had been exciting, something to brag about. And then came the deaths and the doubts, and their friendship had been broken, then reformed, a few times in fact. He would like to say it was stronger. However, as the mornings conversation had shown, it was anything but.
He sat quietly in reflection for several minutes after the rest of his dorm mates and his friends had left. His accusations, made in a moment of anger and slight jealousy, not of Harry, but of the trust Harry now afforded Snape, were vile, something a Malfoy would say, not Harry's best mate. Hence he knew he needed a heavy helping of humble pie to set to rights the rift that he had begun to make in their still fragile relationship.
Not to mention patching things up with his girlfriend.
He cringed, knowing that could be the harder of the two to resolve. Contritely, he rose to his feet, freckled face set in a determined expression. Fixing his own glamor of dirty blond hair and hazel eyes, he straightened his rumbled clothes and left the room. Hopefully he could catch them on his way to Charms.
Mixing in with the throng of students roaming the halls, it was easy to slip in and out without drawing too much attention to himself. Considering the situation currently engulfing Hogwarts, it was a good trait to have. Years slipping away from the pranking twins had made him almost Slytherin, not that he would ever even think that way. Hearing the muffled voices of his fellow students flow around him, he kept his eyes and ears peeled for the pale locks of Hermione or the light brown of Harry's hair. His own dirty blond brush his neck and he raised his hand up to scratch at it. His hairstyle reminded him fondly of their fourth year. Hermione had merely rolled her eyes in exasperation when he had said so.
The plan was ingenious, really. Highly centralized glamour spells and a grey level Notice-Me-Not spell found in a book at Number 12 Grimmauld Place helped the Golden Trio move around Hogwarts' classes with relative ease. So far, only those in Harry and Ron's dorm knew the true identity of the three famous Gryffindor's. Well and Snape, Ron guessed. It was the Headmaster…Ron snorted mentally in derision at the unearned title… that had pointed Hermione in the right direction in regards to the spells. If not for the greasy git, they probably would still be digging through the books.
Ron winced, recalling all of the horrible work he and his two friends had put into getting that place even remotely livable. With the addition of Kreacher, the bumbling bad tempered elf, they were left with a still temperamental hippogriff. Buckbeak had refused to leave after last year. While they were in school, the overgrown feather duster was content to live with Hagrid on Hogwarts grounds. However, with the explosive events at the end of the year, and the Groundskeeper hut blown to bits, Buckbeak came home with Harry, and there he stayed. Bloody beast would only allow Harry near him, too. Summer had not been the fun he was counting on.
And now, he was stuck back here, hunting around for Horcruxes in his free time, and listening to his girlfriend's nagging about N.E.W.T.'s like they were the only thing he had to worry about. Life couldn't get much worse, he thought.
Hearing low tones coming from a corridor to his right, he paused, and smiled. There they were. "Mark?" he called, and heard the immediate pause in conversation.
"Gideon?" the response came, and Ron sighed in relief. They, in a further effort to conceal themselves among the masses, had adopted alias' for themselves. Distantly know relatives for Hermione and Ronald, and a Muggle boy from Harry's childhood for the Savior. It would take a lot of determined digging to unveil who they really were. More than most two bit Death Eaters would think to do.
"Is Rose with you?"
"Yes, Gideon, I'm here. Honestly, where else would I be?" she asked in irritation. Ron shook his head. The two removed themselves from the shadows, Hermione's hands crossed under her breasts and Harry's eyes guarded.
If there was one thing Ron was good at, it was apologizing. He had learned to grovel at his mother's feet at a young age. It had yet to let him down. However, seeing the deep rooted pain in his best mate's gaze, he knew that even with an apology, it would take a while before Harry could forgive him. And it was his fault alone. He gulped, running a hand through his hair.
"I... um..." he sighed, unable to hold that striking gaze for too long. "I was a total prat this morning. I never should've said what I did. I don't think you're... that way," he gestured helplessly.
Something dark sparked in Harry's eyes. "What way?" he hissed.
"You know... poofer, or whatever. And you'd never do something with that old bat. I was bloody mental to even suggest it," he responded, sure of his assumptions. A gasp from Hermione and a sharp pain in his cheek was all the warning he got before he found himself on his arse.
His hand flew to his bruised cheek, his mouth open with shock. Harry had hit him! Never in all their fights had the younger man struck him. Harry's eyes wild with fear and anger were wide and frightening to say the least.
He looked down at his fallen friend and then his own tightly clinched fist. Flexing it for a moment, he stared blank faced, then stuttered out a broken 'sorry' before running down the hall and away from his two friends.
Helplessly, Ron looked after him, then glanced over into the teary eyes of his girlfriend. "What just happened?" he asked dumbfounded.
Hermione shook her head, her curls catching the minute mid-morning sun in a golden halo. "I don't know," she whispered. "But I don't think you should have said what you did. Harry's been oddly sensitive about things lately, if you haven't noticed." She knelt down next to the Weasley and examined his cheek. "You'll live," she concluded. "Honestly, Ronald, when will you think before you open your mouth? You just apologized for this morning, couldn't you have waited at least a day before needing to do it again?"
Ron stood up, pulling his girlfriend into his arms and holding her close. "Do you really think we can keep pulling this off for the rest of the year?"
"You mean do I think Harry can hold up?" she translated. She snuggled her head into his chest, listening to the calming beat of his heart. "I want to believe he can. But he's not eating much, and he barely sleeps. And now this. I just don't know how much more he can take before he breaks completely."
Ron nodded, brushing his nose along her hair. "Then I guess we'd better find him before he does something stupid."
With a final squeeze, Hermione let go and stepped out of Ron's embrace. "Let's go. It's half through Charm's already. We might as well grab the Map and wait for Harry to finish class."
Ron silently agreed and pulled Hermione down the hall toward Gryffindor Tower. Mentally, they both hoped that their wayward friend would not pull a disappearing act, yet again. Unfortunately, it was most likely just a pipe wish. As time went on, Harry became even more distant. It was only a matter of time, they feared, before he broke completely. And then where would they be?
Classes at Hogwarts were strange and uncomfortable affairs for the majority of the student population. The Professors taught a curriculum that was unfamiliar and unwanted. Dark Arts was not just a core class anymore; it was the foundation for most of the lessons taught in any subject. Muggle Studies was a joke. History of Magic as biased as it could possibly get. And the punishments for loss of points, inattention to instructions, or supposed refusal to comply were swift and harsh. Ten times more so if you were anything less than a pure blood, or a blood traitor. Outright rebellion was met with torture sessions that no one wanted to imagine, much less talk about if suffered. The children were truly getting a taste of what life would be like under the rule of the Dark Lord Voldemort.
Needless to say, hope was a very vague feeling. When Harry and his friends had not shown up on the Hogwarts Express, that hope dimmed even more. Without the beacon of light most viewed the Chosen One to be, they sank into compliance and depression. Adding in the Dementors constant lurking and the Carrows' sadistic forms of discipline, it was hard to find a smile. Voices were hushed in hallways, and the common rooms, once the home to laughter, was now filled with shuddering cries. Fear shown brightly in the eyes of the students, even amongst the Slytherlins.
They had thought being of the Snake's house would afford them unlimited leeway. After a few rounds with the Carrows, however, it became very clear that they were held to higher standards than the rest of the school. Fed Dark Arts from infancy and pure blood intolerance ingrained in their very souls, they were expected to take up the mantle of 'educating' their 'inferior' classmates. Any and all ties previously made with other Houses were now penalized with cruelty.
And Draco Malfoy, who had once been held as the Prince of Slytherin, despising all things not perceived as a Malfoy's way of life, found himself routinely nursing his companions and younger housemates from hideous injuries. While admittedly a stuck up prat in past years, his seventh year was nothing but Hell on Earth. As the dark days lingered, growing worse with each scream the firsties gave in Dark Arts, and each tear shed by a child who had the misfortune of having the wrong blood, he, for once, was sincerely wishing for even the slightest hint that Harry might win against all odds. As he handed Pansy another bandage and watched her wrap a second years' bloody hand, he wondered 'What have we gotten ourselves into?'
The muffled sobs from the poor child before them was not a comforting answer.