The sight of Platform 9 3/4 seemed a dim sight to the emerald eyes of Harry. The usual joy and hustle was overshadowed by the absence of a Hogwart's student, along with the knowledge that he was being held by Voldemort. That much was certain, now. Anyone who had any magic coursing through their veins heard the boy's screams every night in their dreams, watched his tears, felt his pain. It was the same dream for everyone, every night, but subtle differences lead the Aurors to believe that it was a new round of torture for Ron every night. Fudge refused to believe that Voldemort had once again risen to power, and had decided not to send the Aurors to find the boy, leaving it to the Bureau of Missing Magical Persons. All wizards, large or small, male or female, knew that this was the wrong decision, but Fudge stubbornly refused to budge on his position.

So Harry now looked with dread on what he had previously looked on with joy. All the students went about their business with vacant stares and dark circles under their eyes, mirror images of Harry's own. No one could sleep, not with that threatening every time they fell asleep. Especially not when they knew it was actually happening.

Even Draco and his crew seemed somewhat subdued, though that may have been due to lack of sleep rather than the capture of Ron. Harry was with the entire Weasley family minus Ron to see Ginny and the twins as well as Harry off, their faces pale under crimson hair. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley's eyes were red from constant crying and the males of the family looked defeated and depressed. A lot like Harry himself.

The youth found the chamber where Hermione was, shuffling in. Her eyes, too, looked as if many tears had been shed. Harry had no doubt that his looked the same. The two exchanged a flash of understanding, but no greeting. There was no will to speak, not when everything was a lie.

A moment later, the chamber opened again. Harry looked up, unreasonably hopeful, knowing that it couldn't be Ron but thinking just maybe....

Rather than being who he hoped it might have been, Malfoy instead stood there. Oddly out of character, he spoke nothing, threw no insults at either of the two occupying the chamber. Ice blue eyes regard emerald warily, srutinizing him.

Harry blinked. 'Odd. Almost as if he's trying to decide something. I wonder what could be important enough to talk to me on nonhostile terms.'

He wasn't to find out though, as the youth suddenly spun on a heel and left, obviously having decided not to disclose his information. Sighing the youth leaned back, turning jade gaze to the window and burry scenery.

* * *

Draco Malfoy sat alone in a cabin, having banished Crabbe and Goyle. His cranium was literally pulsing with a migraine and all he could do was massage his temples with his fingers. The migraine wasn't natural. Sent by magic, it was a promise of much more pain to come should he choose to reveal his father's secret.

The boy had already almost told Harry what he knew, earlier. It wasn't that he cared about the Weasel, it was that he wanted to get some sleep. Those dreams were ten times worse when you heard real screams in the background.

So instead of sleeping, he'd prowled the Malfoy mansion at night, following the sounds of torture until he had found the right room. It had been a month now, plenty of time to find the room, but after he'd found it, the youth had decided not to do anything though. Why risk your life just to get some sleep? He'd probably be able to get some sleep at Hogwarts anyways.

* * *

Bloody and bruised, beaten both physically and magically, a crimson topped head wearily drooped, taking advantage of the daytime to sleep.

* *

The train ride was long, too long for Harry's comfort without the familiar presence of his comrade. Emerald eyes slowly closed, and within moments, the youth fell easily into uneasy slumber.

He was standing in a dungeon, half concealed by the flickering shadows. In the center of the room, the vermillion crown of a sleeping captive faced him, colorful form leaning heavily against the ties that bound him to the chair.

"Ron?"

The prisoner started, looking up. The mahogany eyes of Ron Weasley met those of Harry Potter. An involuntary step back was taken by the boy who lived, brought on by the haggardness of his face, skin taught against bones. A gag forced his jaw open, muffling his words, but Harry understood him perfectly. This was a dream, after all.

Brown searched jade, calm but accusing, a testimony to his strength. With startling suddenness, the youth's orbs flared in fury.

"YOU BLOODY GIT!!! Mr. I'm-So-Famous, I'm-Harry-Potter had to go and form something that endangers Voldemort! You! You put me here!"

His pale faces flushes crimson, hiding the yellow bruises that blossom on cheek and eye. Startled at the sudden outburst, the other dreamer lost his own temper.

"Do you think I WANT you here?!? Do you think I wouldn't instantly dissolve a group that might kill Voldemort if it meant you got out of here?!? If you think not, you're more stupid than even I believed!"

As rapidly as the tempers flare, they cool, leaving the two in companionable but uncomfortable silence. Harry thinks of something and starts, now utterly confused.

"I haven't formed anything, Ron. How can Voldemort know that I formed something to kill him, if I haven't even formed something yet?"

"I don't know. But form it anyways. He's almost vaguely implied that I can be dead and still be in it. Don't ask me how."

"What? Dead!?"

Utterly serious gaze of the tortured catches that of the haunted.

"I'm going to die here, Harry."

Iris meet iris, acceptance and foresight written into them, but the obsidian crowned boy refuses to believe.

"No! You won't! I'll find you, I'll rescue you, you'll live! I know you will..."

"Harry - I'm going to die...."



* * *

Harry jolted awake, a cold sweat beading upon his brow. Realizing that his knuckles were gripping the side of the seat so hard it was white, he slowly relaxes the hold, watching as the ivory turns crimson. Hermione lies on the other bench, fitfully asleep, though as heavily as one could these days. The youth rises to stretch, only to be thrown back into the seat as the train comes to a stop. Waking Hermione, the two set off to meet up with the other fifth years.

Eventually the two arrive at the castle, setting off for the Great Hall. The ceiling has its usual spectacular display, but the companions pay no attention, mood dismal despite the arrival of school. Even Dumbledore, seated at the staff table as usual, wore no smile, no hint of joy.

The first years stumbled nervously up to the front, where Professor McGonagall and the Sorting Hat waited. They looked nervously at one another as the Hat began its rhyme.

If it's a thinking hat you want,

Then it's a thinking hat you'll get

For I'm the smartest thinking hat

That you have ever met.

Just put me on your head,

You'll see, I'll tell where you belong

Don't doubt me, I know who's who

And I've never yet been wrong.

Put away your differences

If you are brave at heart

Or your stubbornness and grudge

Will make a fool's quest from the start.

Those who hold such traits

No doubt belong in Gryffindor

Whose valor, strength, and honesty

Are no less than said in lore.

Should you be dubbed as clever

And in Ravenclaw be placed,

Don't forget - you're human too

Allow the grief to come to face

Loyalty was valued

By the witch called Hufflepuff

And one fallen will rise again

To call the evil's bluff

A Slytherins ambition

Is the basis of their code

But its high time, by now, I think

For one's true colors to be showed.

To with hold information

Is nothing new to you

But too long with held, be careful

Because you might tumble too.

And now you know the places

Where your new life will begin

So put me on and I will tell you

Which house your spirit lies within.


All of Hogwarts was staring at the Hat now, most students shifting uncomfortably while the staff exchanged bewildered looks. Never before had the Hat sung such a foreboding song, or so personalized. Harry ignored it though, despite a small voice in the back of his mind insisting it was right. Who among the Gryffindors would ever willingly unite with a Slytherin?

Everyone payed no attention to the children being sorted, whispering among themselves about the song, and wondering if it pertained to them.

* * *

Cho Chang ate mechanically, her stoic face chewing and swallowing automatically. Everyone had expedcted her to break down when Cedric died, and she nearly had. But the young woman was determined to show she was made of tougher stuff than what everyone thought and had refused to react.

Of all the Ravenclaws, she alone knew whom the Sorting Hat spoke of. And she supposed that maybe she should cry, maybe it would take the edge off the still sharp grief. But she refused to do it in front of anyone who wouldn't understand, and as there wasn't anyone who did, she had to keep her emotions to herself.

* * *

From the shadows, someone not alive and not dead shivered as the Sorting Hat's words entered his hearing. He was planning on staying away from all the students during the year, but there was one student he must follow, on Dumbledore's orders. But Dumbledore had never said that the student had to know he was there...