-----Part Two

Draco Malfoy was bored.

He was in the Slytherin common room, sitting pretzel style in front of the huge fireplace and tearing harshly at a piece of paper. He tore it slowly. Shred by slow shred. And, shred by shred, he threw the paper into the fireplace. He watched as the pieces blackened; watched as they turned quickly to ashes. Once he'd thrown the last bit into the fire and had watched it disintegrate, he let out a frustrated growl.

"What in the hell do they expect me to do here?" he asked, his eyes roaming all over the deserted common room. The 'they' he was referring to were his parents, who had sent him a letter two weeks prior explaining that he couldn't go home this Christmas. Something about an aunt who had fallen ill. "Sick aunt my arse." Draco knew his parents all too well - he knew what the message was behind the letter. He wasn't an idiot. He knew his parents, he knew his father. And he knew that their sudden and unexpected trip to a sick relative's house wasn't a trip to a sick relative's house at all. No. Him not being able to go home this Christmas, his parent's sudden away time - it all had something to do with Voldemort.

"I'm cold," said Draco aloud, just to break the silence. Then he realized it was true. He was cold. Really cold. The stone walls of the Slytherin's living quarters seemed to catch the freezing winter air and hold it. He was sitting inside of a virtual icebox.

Standing, the blond sprinted up to the fifth year boy's dormitory to grab a jacket. Coming back down, he slipped on his heavy winter coat and on a whim, stepped out into the chilly corridor.

Even though it was break, and even though school was technically out, Filch and the professors would still lose their heads if they caught any students running around campus after curfew. Draco knew that night was already upon Hogwarts, but he wasn't sure exactly what time it was. All he could really do was hope not to get caught.

He snorted. The cold must've been getting to his brain or something. What was he thinking? He felt like going for a walk. Maybe a late walk. It didn't matter if he got caught or not. It didn't matter one freaking bit.

He was Draco Malfoy. And Draco Malfoy did what he wanted to do. Bugger the consequences.

-----

Ron's robes were soaked. The snow that had gotten on his robes while he'd been sitting had penetrated cloth and skin and had reached (or so it seemed) bone. He was shivering as he walked, fists clenched and squinting eyes fixed firmly on the not-so-distant warm, yellow light that was Hagrid's hut.

In only the small amount of time it had taken him to walk thus far the color of the sky had shifted from an early evening gray to a foreboding black. The only thing that was keeping the fifth year from falling flat on his face due to disorientation was the moonlight, and the aforementioned yellow light.

I'm breaking school rules, thought Ron absently. He hadn't realized it until just then. No student was supposed to be outside after dark. Especially when the student happened to be a known meddler at Hogwarts. Oh well. Hagrid wouldn't say anything about it and even if Ron was caught out, what would really be done to him? He was a known rule breaker yes, but he was a rule breaker that had helped save the school (and perhaps even the world) a few times, too.

Limbs numb and freckled face more red than usual, Ron reached the hut. He took a moment to stamp the snow from his shoes before he proceeded to knock at the door.

Or at least, he had planned to knock at the door. Instead, just before his clenched fist could meet splintered wood, a hand came out of nowhere, grabbed at his arm and pulled him into the bushes.

"What the-" Ron began, quite loudly, before the same hand that had grabbed him promptly covered his mouth.

Ohno. Ohno. Ohno. The redhead was panicking. It seemed the unusual series of events that had become an annual tradition at Hogwarts was finally beginning. Beginning with him being kidnaped. Wonderful.

For a moment flashes of familiar images assaulted Ron. He could remember his third year, he could remember being pulled into the dark forest, he could remember the sick snap of his leg breaking...

"Shut up Weasel. You're gonna' get us caught." The whisper snapped Ron back to reality. The hand over his mouth disappeared. The fifth year caught his breath, turned his head. Cold, gray eyes glared at him through the darkness.

Draco Malfoy's cold, gray eyes.