Far away, much more south in England, Ron Weasley stood pacing his small rented room just outside of Falmouth.The wooden floors squeaked under his large feet, and he was continuously running his hand throuhg his very red hair, making it stand on end. Life was hell. No doubt about it.

The entire Weasley family had been forced to leave the Burrow to save their lives, and continue working for the DA in strategically placed locations. The Weasleys, after Muggle-Borns, were the most despised by Malfoy, so it was a wonder that only Gi-

Ron stopped pacing. He had been about to say that only Ginny had died. Only Ginny had died? What kind of brother was he? Of course not only. It was- she had been his sister god damnit! His best friend until they were ten and eleven, when he had gone away to Hogwarts. And now she was dead. Killed, most likely. She had been missing for almost a year now.

And poor Harry, who had mourned her death as much as he had, who had finally woken up, finally had the sense to fall in love with Ginny, only to have her die just before graduation.

Of course, there was always the hope that she was still alive. There was hope. And it was there. But he could hear Hermione in his head, "Don't get your hopes up". He really did try not to. And even if she was alive, they had no idea what kind of state she might be in.

Ron didn't even know where Harry was, the secret was hidden deep inside Lupin. He could have no contact with him whatsoever, it was too big of a risk. Harry had wanted Ron to be Secret Keeper, but Ron said taht was to be expected. He didn't want the Death Eaters knowing who the Secret Keeper was. He didn't trust himself. He still couldn't fight the Imperius.So Harry had chosen Remus next, and Ron desperatedly hoped that Harry wasn't going to relive his father's history. As much as he trusted Remus, something along the lines of trusting him with his life, Ron couldn't stop the nightmares from coming.

Finished his pacing, Ron sat down at a wooden desk that was covered in scattered parchment on which codes, missions, urgent messages were written. If ever the Death Eaters found out where he lived and entered his apartment... well, he couldn't bear to think of that. One thing Ron had learned from this war was; don't think, it will only get into trouble.

He glanced down at the piece of parchment he had been writing on.

Dear Otter, it said, in his usual messy scrawl.Otter was Hermione's code name, because of the form her Patronus Charm took. Dipping his quill in ink, he began to write.

Dear Otter,

I can't say much in my letters as usual, but I still keep writing to you, just to keep you company. It must be boring, wherever you are, all by yourself with your cat. It's not boring here. And I know you're pouting because you're missing out on it, but I'd rather have you miserable than dead. We all would. And don't try to deny it either! Just remeber, I got an O on my Divination OWL. Don't give up hope it will finish soon, because we're working hard, and just think of what we can do when it's over. Quidditch, Otter! We can go to my team's games again, and you can wear the shirt, I'll buy you one. Actually, you must wear the shirt, even if I have to put it on for you. Not that I'd mind, course. Miss you!

Cheers!

Leopard

He put down his quill and quickly changed the letter into code. Ron then threw the original into the fire, and watched it burn, standing next to the fire. He didn't mind the heat because of a cooling charm he had put up a long time ago. Gazing into the bright orange flames, he thought of Hermione, wherever she might be, far away from him. As cheerful as he tried to sound in the letters, it was very depressing being away from her. Over and over again, Ron replayed memories, daydreamed about how he, personally would go and get her and get her back, sometimes, when he reached a certain point of missing Hermione, he would have a conversation with her, speaking aloud and she would answer back in his head. He thought he was mad some days, he truly did. When, exactly, had he gone insane? And who wouldn't? For company, he had his over-active owl Pig, and the grumpy landlord with fly-away white hair and big ears, who was always threatning to kick Ron out because he had come home too late yet again, but never actually followed through on this. His best friend was in hiding, so was his- well his- Hermione because she would be killed by Draco personally, he never saw any of the Order face to face anymore, and he couldn't speak or see his family.

He felt very much alone.

In the Malfoy Mansion, Draco Malfoy also paced his room, but for a different reason than Weasley.

~*~*~*~

Draco Malfoy wore a scowl. His blonde hair sleeked back, and his cold, ice- blue eyesburned with anger. Treading over the rich green carpet in his room, he was being watched by his new house elf, Nullen. Nullen's giant yellow eyes were fixed on his master, filled with a look of tremendous admiration. It was disgusting, really.

" Leave," he spat. The house elf opened his mouth to speak, but Draco cut it off.

"Go iron my dress robes. I'm meeting Pansy tonight. Bring me the silver ones with black fastenings," he ordered Nullen, who hastily bowed out of the room.

Draco rolled his eyes at the door.

"Pitiful," he muttered.

Alone at last, he sat down on his bed and twirled his new ring around his finger. It wasn't fair that the Dark Lord had given him this, splendid and full of power though it was, but still refused to-

A soft knocking at the door interrupted his thoughts. He was very tempted to not answer it, why should he be bothered? But he heard Nullen's voice, and knowing that damn house elf had mixed things up again, he stood and went to open the door. What a waste, that bloody thing was.

Sure enough, there stood Nullen, holding two robes of silver, one in each hand.

"Did Master-" he began, his eyes full of tears.

" Master said the ones with black fastening, Nullen. Now hurry up, you waste my time. If they're not ironed in half an hour when I need to go pick up Pansy, you can keep the clothes."

The house elf positively trembled, then bowed and scurried away. Draco watched him with contempt until he went around the corridor, then closing the door behind him, went to his ornate chair by his window. He could finally think things through.

He couldn't understand why the Dark Lord was being so harsh with him. He had already killed six Muggles, respectively, and had been the main reason they had found the Austens and MacMillans. Of course, he'd almost told Him that they were at the Fairweathers across the street, but upon closer inspection....

Draco was quite certain, however, that the Fairweather's daughter- what was her name?- oh yes, Petra, was doing illegal activity against them. Death Eaters were quite aware that there was a group working against them, but had yet to catch any. Perhaps she would be the first. It was too bad, she was a fine piece of work, that one; and he really would be dreadfully sorry if he had to turn her in. Draco gave the slightest snort of laughter.

Suddenly, he had an idea. Maybe-just maybe- if he gave the Dark Lord one of them, then he would certainly honour him, accept him, and give him-

Two knocks on the door startled him. Someone was, once again, at his stupid, bloody door. That ruddy house elf! Damn, he needed time to think!

"Ye Gods, you ruddy house elf! What is it-" he began to shout as he opened the door. But he stopped suddenly when he realised that it was not Nullen, but Pansy standing in his doorway.

"Something worng, Draco, dear?" she asked, looking ravishing in robes of finest silk.

"No, I was simply.....irritated," he said. Pany smiled. He looked at her, his eyebrows knotted together.

"Wasn't I supposed to pick you up at your house?" he asked her.

" Well, yes, but I really did feel like staying home tonight," she said simperingly and walking into his room.

" Then why in heavens name did you come here, woman?" Draco said, closing the door behind her.

Pansy ignored him and lay down on his bed. Draco was quite annoyed... proof of how irritated he was; he usually enjoyed this.

"You know what I mean, Draco," Pansy said. She kicked off her shoes, and curled her toes.

"Pansy, now really isn't the right-"

"Time?"

"Well, yes."

"Draco, sweetheart, whatever is bothering you, I promise this will help you take your mind off things,: Pansy said in a bossy voice. "Now come here."

Draco didn't refuse.