A/N: Madi, I don't know if Ron'll end up with Mione, but... I dunno. *Looks around with puppy eyes* Reviews? Reviews? Please? *sob* I'm so unloved! *breaks stuff* LOL, not that I'm unappreciative of everyone who reviewed; I love you guys! Group hug! *Once again brilliantly evades Mental Inst. People* Oh, yes, and anyone with strong faith please don't be offended. This part is absolutely essential to my overall plot, if there is one, and I have nothing against religion.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters; not even gorgeous Weasley and Malfoy, damn it, so leave me alone to mope in my claustrophobic bathroom now.
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When Draco woke up, he heard voices- Not of his father, or Weasely's, the most recent ones, but unknown voices. And he wasn't very cold, either. A horrified Draco realized that he had been found. By most likely Muggles. And he was indoors. Crap.
Who is he, walkin' around with strange clothin's? Never seen him around, b'fore, I warrant. Outsiders are durn trouble.
He must be some part of a strange cult'r summin'.
Paganistic cult, no doubt, Draco heard, a silkily cultured voice unlike the rustic others.
Yea, Reverend. Think we sh' hold im fer a bit?
No doubt, I think. We'll just question him. Draco decided he didn't like that voice- silky, cool, educated. Shit, he should be that voice, not the stupid heap in the corner without a wand, broomstick, or even Invisibility Cloak. He stretched his tired muscles out and yawned very obviously.
The three voices stopped immediately.
Why, hello. Great hospitality, Draco remarked idly.
Who are ye? One of the rustic voices asked.
Draco let out a snort. You sound just like that oaf, Hagrid.
Three voices, even the educated one asked simulataneously: Who's Hagrid?
Some paganistic inferior, no doubt, the educated one said smugly. Draco let out a growl. Only he should be smug. And what the hell was a paganistic inferior? After all, he fucking was the Malfoy Heir. He had more money than this whole town had all together.

No, you don't, a little nasty voice said inside his head. Shit. He had run away, hadn't he? And Lucius was so going to do something drastic, and do something like disown him... fuck fuckety fuck. Fuck. He had no money on him. No wand, no cloak, no broomstick. What an addlepated, uncomfortable way to run away from home.

Draco rehearsed songs created entirely out of expletives.

Are you glad of something, outsider? The cultured voice said smoothly. It was a Muggle with greying hair and a suit.
Glad for the hospitality. Glad to be an outsider. Not much scenery. Or shopping locations. Comes with the... unfortunate lack of educated people around this place of shit, eh? Draco spat out, but very afraid nevertheless.
Shu' up, an irate farmer-like person with overalls and a parka.
Ha! Try me, you stupid Muggle! Draco spat, tired of this stupid situation.
Three voices said in unison. However, it was that stupid reverend who regained control. Again. God, why wasn't it one of those stupid farmers?
Obvious a cult term for those who like to bask in the glory of our Lord, the reverend said solemnly.
The Lord? The Dark Lord? Oh... oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck....
I don't like the Lord, Draco said innocently.
Three voices snarled in unison. Again. Shit, how did they do it all the time?
It's... obvious, Reverend, he's in a pa- er, pagan cult, like ye said, The other farmer said while baring his teeth in the most unnatractive sneer. Well, Draco would teach him. He had the best sneer ever- it should have been patented. He knitted eyebrows, narrowed eyes, and bared teeth. The whole scene- a farmer and a freak in robes engaging in a glaring contest- would be very comical if Draco hadn't been that freak. Which kind of sucked.
I think, Mr. Jonathan, that we should take him out to the courthouse. He doesn't need to be in your... er, little shack of a house anymore.
Reverend, did ye just call my house a- a shack?

Now, if Draco wasn't the person that was in deep, deep trouble, he would be laughing by now. Or sneering. Hah- that conversation sounded just like the ones he had with Crabbe and Goyle. Or his father and that oaf Hagrid. Shit. His father. What would he be doing? He would now, Draco was gone. He would know Draco ran away. He would be looking for Draco. And Draco was in deep, deep shit if Lucius found him. And Draco needs to stop talking to himself in the third person, his little nasty demon in his head stuck his demon-tounge at him. Bloody voices, he thought. I escape Lucius, and get a Lucius-like demon that I can't escape.
No, of course not, Jonathan, was the smooth reply. Heh. Liar. Now, take him to the court-house, since he refuses to identify himself. Or his cult, since he openly damned our religion.
What the fuck? What religion? I didn't say one expletive at them. Well. Fuck you. Bloody Muggles. They should just go diving off of the American Rockies. Bloody useless, Muggles.
What's a cult?Draco pouted, the one expression he used with his mother.
Nice try, ye crazy pagan, The parka-d farmer said nervously, wrapping his ham fist around Draco's slight shoulder, as did the other identical one.
Get off, you bloody Muggles! Was Draco's correct Malfoy ettiquette response. His shoulders felt strangled. Gee, as if there weren't enough bruises on them. Stupid Muggles. He decided he didn't like them anymore. Or their stupid books. J.R.R Tolkein could just rot in his grave, for all he cared. That and that bad portrayal of wizards. They weren't all ugly and old, and they didn't associate with Orcs. Then again, Bulstrode was in his year. He smirked a bit.

Well, wasn't this a strange peice of events. Found by Muggles, no wand or magical stitch about him. The Daily Prophet was going to have a field day. Ugh. He wondered why he was going to a courthouse. Malfoys didn't get in trouble. Or rather, they did, but they either A) Frightened the police of with the patented Malfoy sneer; B) Killed the police; C) Used their great lying skills D) Used their connections to get out of trouble; or E) All of the above. Draco liked doing the last. It was the most fun. Unfortunately, none of the options could apply now.

Aaagh, bloody Muggles.

So now, admist the most unpleasant snow, which he hated for sure, he was marched outside, when he thought that he saw a flash of red hair. Fucking Weasely! He bet Weasely was coming to gloat, and gloat, and gloat.... He growled. And all of a something, something was thrown at him.

Not hard. Soft. Silky. Cool. His Invisibility Cloak. His burly farmer-boys let out simultaneous cried of surprise (Damn, did they do everything in unison?) as he disappeared. Not thinking, rather like his escape, he ran as hard as he could.

Shit, shit. He didn't like running. Running brought sweat. Sweat ruined and smelled up expensive robes. Running equaled sweat equaled bad. Anything strenous was not good. Not after Crucio Rompaer, anyway. He found himself by a battered sign, reading LADTRA TOWN. Weasely was calmly waiting for him, holding his precious broomstick. Without thinking, Draco yanked it from him.

Was that you, Weasely? He snarled.

Ron didn't know why he he had saved Malfoy from those bloody Muggles. He had been walking, moping (of course, again) when he saw Malfoy, again, as if once wasn't enough... only he was dragged away by two burly Crabbe-like people in overalls and those stupid puffy jackets Muggles had. So, curious, he had followed them, holding Malfoy's stuff. Expensive stuff- an Invisibility Cloak and a Nimbus Two Thousand and One. He saw Malfoy taken into a house, then taken out, with someone resembling Percy's old boss. Not thinking, of course, he threw the cloak at Malfoy. All he knew was that they weren't going to treat Malfoy nicely. Not in that freak town Ladtra, anyway. Of course, he should have been happy, and just given Malfoy the finger before scampering away. But no. He played the hero. He never played the hero. It was kind of cool, though. But Ladtra, god, how did Malfoy not know about Ladtra? It was one of the most infamous places in the wizarding world. Almost as high as Salem. The hysteria, the hangings... They still had those rickety old gallows up. Downright bloody creepy, that was.

Er. Yeah, Malfoy. See any other wizards around? Ron nearly drawled, very pleased with himself.

Malfoy was sputtering. Ron found this incredibly hysterical.

What... the fu-... Bloody hell, Weasely, what was that for?

My god, Malfoy snarled at himself. Weasely had saved him. Well, Weasely, are you deaf? Weasely was straring blankly into space, but Draco's words had jolted him.
D'you- d'you know what they did in Ladtra, you arse? Weasely said, irritated. There are gallows up there, you know, for our kind. I- I couldn't let you go there.
Aw, Weasely plays the hero. How sweet. Don't you just love him? You stuck-up little attention whore. You should have been happy to see me on your precious gallows, so why did you do that?
I don't play the hero. Not willingly, anyway, Ron muttered, his voice shaking a bit. Bloody arsehole. He should have left the stupid arse at Ladtra.
You're avoiding the question, Weasely, Malfoy said patronizingly. You gay or something? Did you fall in love with me? I know how easy it must be with my look-
Oh, bloody hell, Malfoy. You're a short little slimy albino git with wispy hair. The only person that liked you was that squashed bulldog Parkinson-
You're avoiding the question, Weasely, Draco growled out. He was so not albino. Was not at all.

Draco found Weasely's pondering looks into space were really irritating. So, Weasely? Remember?
I- It was the right thing to do, Ron said finally. It sounded so corny, so stupid, but there was no other reason. He couldn't stand Malfoy, but it was plain wrong to leave him there. It was probably a stupid thing to do, though. He shouldn't have bothered. Giving Malfoy the chance to recycle those old gallows would be more amusing. But no, he played the fecking hero, and now he had a slimy albino prat annoying him. Then again, Malfoy looked really confused. That face of being deprived of being a know it all was really kind funny looking.

Ron was rewarded by a scornful laugh. Good one, Weasely. Spoken like a true fucking Gryffindor.
Ron felt a flash of anger, and he knew he was about to lose it. What the hell was Malfoy saying? He had just saved bloody Malfoy from the Muggles, and he got insulted for it. Malfoy was the bloody gay one. He had PMS worse than Hermione. And- and no straight person would have that flippy blonde hair. Ron bet he bleached it.

Malfoy, I should just hand you right back to those Muggles. You're standing in front of the gate. You'll get caught. Put those gallows to good use, your skinny little neck would. I- I bloody got you away from the Muggles. Shouldn't you be thanking me, or something?
Malfoy looked considerably shaken now. He stepped away from the gate, but he regained composure. Yeah, Weasely. I should be kissing your handmedown robes and lumpy sweaters for that. You know, you're such a bloody archetypal Gryffin-
There was never a Slytherin who didn't go bad, Malfoy, Ron spat.
That's what everyone tells me. Slytherins are evil, Slytherins are on the Dark Side, Slytherins, Slytherins, Slytherins- well, my fucking father says it differently, Weasely. About Slytherins. In between giving my the Cruciatus curse and snapping five of my wands, you know. Fuck you all- all you Gryffindors. You have it so easy, don't you? The whole fucking world loves you, you're the world's golden boys. You don't worry about people shuddering and saying, Oh, he's a Slytherin. He must be evil, he has to be. My whole fucking life was about Slytherin; every single friend I had who wasn't one got scared off, or scared me off to do that. But you wouldn't know, would you? You wouldn't care. You could hear my bloody screams from the manor and say, Oh. Well, he's a Malfoy, and a Slytherin, so he deserves it. Ha ha! You would say that, wouldn't you? I know you enough for you just to laugh. And here you are, waltzing in and saving the day- and then I'm supposed to repent for my so-called evil sins, right? Well, Weasely, you and that bloody Potter can just rule the school, laughing at those outcasts, the ones that no one wants, the Slytherins. That's why they joined You-Know-Who. Because they were exiled, they were idealists, and no one cared about them! Malfoy shouted angrily.

You bloody little arsehole. Don't you even talk about Harry like that. He fucking- he fucking threw You-Know-Who down, and without him you'd- you'd all ready have that Dark Mark on your arm that you supposedly hate so much.You're talking about not being evil, eh? Well, remember your comment about Diggory- and you haven't stopped calling people mudbloods'- so don't give me crap about being really good inside- and you, you Slytherins never tried to act your supposed good' side, all you ever did was try to piss us off- so don't even start about that! Weasely's face resembled an eggplant. If he wasn't cracking his huge gigantic knuckles all the way, and if Draco had had his wand, he would be laughing by now. But now Draco was deadly serious, and pissed- he, out of all people, had lost his temper, and mentioned Lucius. Oh, fuck. He had, hadn't he? He tried everything to regain his icy tone. He counted to ten. He pictured him hexing Weasely. He pictured- fuck it. It wasn't working.

Potter's been hit with one fucking curse. I've- I've been hit with many. Potter got lucky, though, right? He's fine. Fine. You-Know-Who got resurrected in fourth year, and he's still fine. He's the most famous person our age and he never did anything but get lucky. I'm the one who got hit by more curses than you can count on your inbred freckly fingers, you- you- you arse, Draco finished. He was quite sure he was pink by now. It was very unflattering on him. But right now, he was shaking. Not from Weasely's little rant, but the fact that the freckly git had actually saved him from the bloody Muggles. This sucked.

Don't- talk- about- Harry- like- that, Ron said through gritted teeth. So- he got lucky, you arse- but you can't say it wasn't a good lucky. He brought You-Know-Who down, and you should be happy, though, right? Because you're not evil, right? Eggplant, eggplant, eggplant. Ron felt steam rise from his ears.

Silence. Both boys were standing on the hillock on which they first met that winter.
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A/N: KellieAnne, I cannot say how much I appreciate your support. And everyone else: THANK YOU SO MUCH. I REALLY APPRECIATE IT!