Thank you to all those wonderful people who have reviewed, I adore you, always. Sorry about the delay in writing but ... I started a Ron/Draco list and archive, so I hope i'm forgiven because at least its R/D related.

I'm pimping my site...hehehe. Oh and this chapter is extra long for all of you. damn that came out just so perverted

Jux

Here we go...

Chapter Eighteen

Unlike her brother, Ginny had remained composed during Malfoy's entirely over-blown speech. It wasn't that she didn't want to utter something decidedly nasty back to the boy; she just knew her place as the only girl in the family was the mature one. After Ron's sudden departure, it seemed the tension in the air dissipated and everyone was free to leave, go about their business.

Draco had not been approached and remained close to the fireside, his attention fixed anywhere but here she guessed. Ginny had no wish to disturb him and instead hovered beside her mother who was keeping herself busy by planning a lavish dinner.

Why she was even bothering, Ginny had no idea. It wasn't like Draco would be impressed with any of her efforts. He may not be a Malfoy in blood but he was one- hundred percent Malfoy in attitude. Lucius was a persuasive man and she knew that for a fact. She'd had a taste of what that was like, being the puppet of someone who basically dominated you. Tom Riddle had been her master and Ginny felt a twinge of pity for a fellow victim. What it must feel like to have the one person you held above all others topple off their impossibly high pedestal.

Her eldest brother, Bill, sat in conference with Father; they spoke in hushed tones. Ginny assumed it was Ministry business and her presence would not be welcome. She remained by her mother's side, continuing to survey the room.

Charlie was the only one who eventually dared to capture Draco's eyes with his own. A look passed between them and it was Draco who turned away first. Without a word he fled upstairs.

Molly gave her son a forced smile. He had tried to get through to the boy but the Malfoy family was so excruciatingly obstinate. They both jumped when a door could be heard slamming above them.

Ginny snorted to herself. Oh yes, it seemed we were all going to be treated to one of those infamous Malfoy hissy fits. She held her breath waiting for it...

Less than a minute later Ginny was rewarded. She almost cheered at her brilliant foresight when a series of crashes could be heard upstairs. Trelawney would have been proud of her Divination skills. She hid a grin when Draco started to stomp around noisily above like some petulant child. Ginny bit her lip when it sounded like he was kicking at the poor defenceless furniture. Her mother looked aghast at the rumpus going on in her house, especially by one who was essentially a guest.

Ginny rather hoped it wouldn't be long before Ron returned from his little sulk. Her brother could be such diva sometimes; a lot like Draco come to think. Isn't that strange. She'd never thought of him and Malfoy as having anything in common.

'Come on Ron, get your fanny back inside. Hell, it's your room he's trashing!'

Harry sat in one of the over-stuffed couches that were scattered around the common room's fireplace. His legs were tucked firmly under his bottom, one arm stretched out along the length of the back, while his nails clawed into a threadbare patch of upholstery.

Neville had confided in him earlier that Professor Snape had been imprisoned in his chambers. He'd been stripped of his Potions ingredients along with his wand and forced to endure in-house psych tests from St. Mungo's finest.

Harry hadn't been surprised. Even if someone hadn't squealed about that day on the Quidditch pitch, the headmaster would have worked it out eventually. Dumbledore may come across as a cryptic old bugger, - seemingly quite 'mad as a hatter' when you met him in person, - but he was no fool. Harry felt confident that the wizard had known about the incident, even before Snape did.

His teacher was damn lucky he hadn't been thrown in Azkaban for placing an Unforgivable on a student. Truth was Professor Snape was the least of his worries; he had it coming anyway, the repugnant, hateful brute. No, it was his cousin Dudley that consumed his thoughts. Harry refused to believe that the boy would follow anyone willingly, least of all Voldemort. There must have been some serious mojo cast on Dudley to have him try to murder his parents and he needed to find out why.

Harry had confided in his cousin over the summer and Dudley had been eager to listen to him in return. His cousin had started to rebel against his parents warped ideals over the last year and had been mailing Harry letters almost every week since school began. He couldn't even take credit for his cousin's transformation. An art teacher at Dudley's school had made quite the impression on the young man, much to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's bitter disgust. As a result of these conversations, he'd opened up to the possibilities of what his parents would have labelled as outside the boundaries of normality, i.e. the wizarding world at large being one of them.

Dudley, unfortunately, was most definitely a Muggle and would never truly have a place in Harry's world. That hadn't stopped him from embracing those principles every good wizard strives for just the same.

This summer had been the first in Harry's entire life with the Dursley's that he could honestly say he enjoyed. Turned out once he got through that tough exterior, his cousin was a decent bloke and one he was proud to be related to.

Harry realized that Dumbledore expected him to obey his wishes and stay at Hogwarts, but he couldn't, not with Dudley out there alone. His cousin knew nothing of the viciousness of Voldemort's court. The Death Eaters were not individuals Harry ever wanted anywhere near Dudley. Besides, his cousin had no means to protect himself from them.

Unfolding himself from the recesses of the couch, Harry crept upstairs into the sixth year dorms. Rifling through his trunk, he came across his invisibility cloak and the Marauders map. Fetching his broom, he exited the dorms once more and headed out of Gryffindor tower.

Luckily the Fat Lady was snoring in her portrait so he didn't have to endure a thorough scolding for venturing out in the Hogwarts corridors past midnight. Usually he was smart enough to cover himself in the invisibility cloak before leaving the common room, but he'd already stepped outside before he could correct his blunder.

Making sure he was out of hearing distance from any nosey paintings, he carefully opened the empty parchment.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." He whispered. The map sprung to life and just in time too. Two names appeared on the same corridor in which he was standing. Harry barely had time to whisper "Mischief managed" before throwing the invisibility cloak over his head and flattening his body against the wall.

A minute later Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley came into view. He knew if Hermione found out he was there, she would not understand his disregard of the school's rules. It wasn't like she hadn't flouted a few of them herself in the past; it was just that now in their sixth year she had begun to get seriously freakish about anything extra- curricular related. Also, Hermione had become mysterious as to her whereabouts of late and often it would be days till anyone saw her at all. Harry was almost convinced she had a new beau that he and Ron would not approve of and that's why she was acting so distant toward them. In any case Harry didn't feel the same closeness, the same desire to share his secrets that he had in the past five years. He simply couldn't explain his wariness towards her.

Harry watched as Hermione hesitated. He could have sworn she sensed him but of course that was impossible. Perhaps her 'pause' had another meaning, maybe someone else was coming. Damn, he wished he hadn't deactivated the map so that he could check for himself.

Before he could thoroughly agonize over the possibility of Professor Dumbledore finding him cowering in the corner, they were gone! The soft click of the portrait as it locked in place the only reminder that anyone had been in the hall other than himself.

Harry stood there for a further ten minutes or so waiting for someone else to show, but no one came. Easing the invisible cloak from over his head, he felt enough time had lapsed that if Dumbledore or another staff member were prowling the hallways, they would have at least showed themselves by now. Harry let the cloak rest on his shoulders as he quickly opened the map to settle the matter. Convinced that he was alone, Harry folded up the map and placed it back in the pocket of his robes.

Seconds later he meandered past the Gryffindor tower entrance with his cloak shrouding him from view. He stopped, staring at the doorway and the empty frame. It seemed the Fat Lady had gone wandering, which was unlike her because she rarely left her post.

Harry rationalized that she must be off visiting while all her charges were asleep in their beds. With a resigned sigh he made his way down the stairs.

'Hang on.'

He swung back to face the door somewhat confused.

'Ginny!'

'Didn't she go home with Ron? What on earth was she doing back here?'

Harry clapped a hand over his mouth, petrified he'd spoken aloud. Peeking around the corner, he could see no one, - neither Mrs Norris nor Filch - lurking nearby ready to nab him. He shook his head, annoyed at himself. He was flamin'cracked lately, scared of his own bloody shadow.

Did Ginny come back here for some reason? It's just he had been told it was essential that both Ron and his sister be home for the Christmas break, family meeting or the like. Harry hoped everything was alright at the Burrow. He'd been rather hurt when he was told he couldn't spend the break with the Weasley's. Harry shrugged. He'd just have to ask her when he got back; he had to find Dudley tonight.

He started to move down the stairs again, when his brow furrowed and he halted mid-step.

'Had they been holding hands?'

Ron kicked at the log, the one they left near the front door to be either an impromptu doorstop or something to wipe your feet on. He'd been leaning against the side of the house, peeping in the kitchen window to glance at Malfoy standing near the fire while his family went about their business.

He focussed solely on the blond as his brother Charlie caught Malfoy's attention and then watched as the Slytherin stormed upstairs. It was then that he had started to kick at said log.

Malfoy was an arse. Ron had no idea why Mrs. Malfoy would come to his parents and dump her son on them. There simply had to be a reason why she would do that, something his parents weren't telling them. Hell, Dad hated Lucius; then again maybe that was the reason. Perhaps his father wanted to get his own back on Malfoy senior, although that seemed a little extreme, not to mention childish and his father wasn't known for being either.

Blast, he really hated this. Having Malfoy here instead of Harry, it just wasn't fair. His parents might except that the Slytherin had changed, but he knew better. Malfoy was still an uptight mummy's boy... a hideous snob and the worst kind of bully. We weren't talking about a fluffy bunny here folks. Draco Malfoy is one vile minded git and he had taken up residence in his home.

How long was he going to be staying with them anyway?

Ron thought Christmas without Harry was going to be miserable but now it was guaranteed to be pure torture with Malfoy as his overseer.

Malfoy couldn't stand to be breathing the same air as a lowly Weasley. Imagine what he's going to be like living with the whole bloody lot of us; he'll be impossible.

Ron gave the log one more malicious kick as he pushed off from the side of the house. He lunged at the door while shaking the snowflakes from his hair. Stepping over the threshold and into the warmth he immediately made his way over to his father.

Why is Malfoy here of all the places he could be living? Surely Mrs. Malfoy must have loads of relatives she could have passed the boy off to, so why come to 'The Burrow' then?

Ron was about to interrupt in his Dad's conversation with his eldest brother when he stalled, his mouth gaping absurdly. He had just been about to ask those crucial questions, when they obliterated from his thoughts.

"What the...who's that?" he stared up at the ceiling, before looking at all of them for confirmation.

His father's expression was deliberately blank. His sister looked like she trying desperately not to laugh but it was his mother who gave it away as she visibly flinched at his innocent question.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy..." He howled, rushing for the stairs.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley you will refrain from using such vulgar language in this house."

"Sorry mum." He wrenched out grudgingly, taking the steps two at a time.

Molly tugged at her apron strings, her fingers fumbling with the knots as she shook uncontrollably. Eventually, she pressed the soiled material into Ginny's hand as she too started for the stairs. Arthur intercepted her before she could follow her son. Pulling his wife into his arms, he whispered in her ear "Let them be, honey."

"Arthur, you know I can't just let him go up there and assault a guest, even if he is a Malfoy." She struggled to get out of his fierce grip.

Mr Weasley loosened his hold on her, although he still held her hands firmly as she stepped out of his embrace.

"I know dear, but Ron has to fight his own battles. Both of them are old enough to work out their inherent problems. Theirs is a conflict that was bound to happen and something we as parents cannot interfere in."

Molly looked doubtful.

"Like my past with Lucius, Ron has his connection with Draco to deal with. Don't you prefer that they have these clashes under our roof, rather then be subjected to possible expulsion at Hogwarts?"

Molly could not argue with such reason, her husband was right of course. Still, she couldn't help but worry at what was ahead for the two if they failed to come to some kind of an understanding.

Ron burst into his bedroom; he immediately spotted the blond head bent over one his chest of draws, tossing his clothes all over the floor. Malfoy was muttering to himself, some obnoxious little critique on his taste in clothing. Ron didn't even hesitate as he clamped both hands down on Draco's shoulders and shoved him backwards.

"You're nuts! You've clearly gone bonkers!" Ron screamed, taking in the mess that was his room. His precious Chudley Cannon posters were in tatters and his books were lying in a jumbled heap on the carpet. It appeared as if they had been hurled at the wall, their spines broken and pages half torn out. Even the sheets on his bed had been dragged across the floor, his bedposts scuffed as if someone had been kicking at them.

His fingers clawed viciously into Malfoy's fragile looking jumper. Balling the soft material into his fist, he jerked the boy towards him, growling furiously into the git's face.

Draco scrunched up his nose in disgust at the spittle being sprayed onto his cheek, he retaliated by kicking out with his boots at Ron's vulnerable legs.

Ron yowled as those lethal heels crunched into his bones. He limped out of Malfoy's reach and picked up Hermione's last Christmas present, a hefty tome which he proceeded to smack the surprised blond with.

"I hate you, do you hear me?"

Draco was too busy dodging a combustible redhead to stop and answer him.

"You're insane, and I'm quite convinced that my parents have gone soft in the head because they agreed to let you into our home."

Draco sneered at Weasley, flinging anything that he could find at the enraged boy before him. Ron ducked as a flying missile whistled by his ear, one of his art pencils, a black beauty and his favourite instrument.

While Ron was distracted, Draco launched himself at the boy. He snatched a handful of that vibrant hair and tugged sharply to the right.

Ron yelped, stumbling at the impromptu assault, his arms flailing uselessly as he tried to get a hold of him, the slippery bugger. Draco laughed, taunting him as he easily slipped out of Ron's grasp. With a hand twisted into his thick hair, he could tug Ron anywhere he damn well chose.

Eventually, Ron spied his chance and backed the entirely too smug boy into a corner. Running at him full tilt, he forced Draco and himself across the room to end up sprawled over the spare bed.

Malfoy had the wind knocked out of him, as Ron rubbed soothingly at what he wouldn't be surprised was a bald patch on the left side of his head. It was at that moment that he discovered the oddity.

Without actually getting off of the blond, he lifted his head and glanced around the room. What he noticed, did not sit well with him- no, not one little bit. He cursed under his breath at his failure to notice such important details.

The spare bed had been made up neatly opposite his own. Not a speck of the wreck that had been his belongings was touching it.

There was a strange chest at the foot of that same bed, equally as immaculate and untouched.

Ron shook his head vehemently, scrambling off that treacherously warm body under his own. .

"No! No way! You're not sleeping in here with me."

Draco propped himself up on his elbows as he rolled his eyes dramatically. He adored the delicious expression of horror that had suddenly dawned on Ron's face. For an instant there he could have sworn that Weasley's rejection had caused a stab of what he could only guess was annoyance...because it bloody well wasn't hurt. Not goddamn likely.

"Well, apparently I am." He spat.

Ron started to pick through the carnage, ignoring Malfoy in the process completely.

"What? You think I like this anymore then you do?" he hissed, incensed that Weasley had switched, becoming so utterly calm and continuing to ignore him to boot.

How dare you, you ginger-headed nonce!

Ron calmly placed the books into some kind of a rough order back on the shelf. He took his sweet time about it too. He even considered taking a page from his anal-retentive brother Percy and sort through them alphabetically. That would have really pissed Malfoy off, but maybe that was a tad too cruel. Then again it was Malfoy...now would '21 Ways to Keep your House Elf Happy and Productive' be under 'T' or would it have a category all its own, being that it starts with a number in all...

Meanwhile, Draco was silently fuming, glaring huge motherfucking holes into the back of Ron's head, or so he hoped. The lanky prick was ignoring him. Hell, he had been deliberately forgotten about, like his presence meant less than nothing. Malfoys were never, NEVER passed over and especially for no ruddy book. Glancing around the room, he searched for something to bring Weasley's attention zeroing back to where it belonged, on him.

His eyes narrowed as he caught a glimpse of movement on Ron's bedside table. Oh how precious, he had a photo of his two widdle friends and himself, right there next to his bed. Draco couldn't resist siding up to the table and snatching up the picture between his long manicured fingers. The frame was so delicate and obviously in need of tossing, he was quite disgusted even to be touching it.

Ron couldn't stand it any longer, ignoring Malfoy was hard work and he really couldn't be sure that the Slytherin would even be affected by his deliberate shunning. He might even prefer that his roommate was silent. Even worse, with his back turned, Ron had no idea what the blond was up too. He could be pawing through his things again, looking for something to blackmail him with.

Hell, did he have anything that might incriminate him...

Giving up on stacking them alphabetically, Ron turned to face his quarry. What he saw made him forget the acidic comment that had been already on his tongue. He swallowed thickly as a lump formed in his throat. He watched, terrified as Draco gently stroked a finger across the surface of his most treasured possession. In his mind he pleaded for Malfoy to return the picture to its rightful place, but Ron knew if he voiced that to the boy he'd just as surely hurl it at him. His wand was in the pocket of his robes and that was lying across his bed, far too close to Draco for him to easily get access to without causing suspicion and the most definite destruction of his picture. No matter which way he looked at this dilemma, he was going to lose.

There was no way out, he was going to have to appeal to Malfoy's sense of decency. What on earth was he talking about? The Slytherin had no such virtue to speak of, but he had to at least try. Every other avenue spelled disaster.

He inched closer to the blond, keeping his movements slow and innocent. Malfoy raised an eyebrow as Ron moved towards him.

Draco almost felt like laughing. This was perfect. The redhead was clearly distressed on having his portrait manhandled by him. Draco snorted. Weasley should be so lucky!

No. This was positively marvelous. Of course he had the ginger-headed prick's attention now didn't he? Oh, what to do... what to do?

Ron blanched as Malfoy angled his body to the precise direction that he was approaching, which was a kind of meandering path, stopping to pick up a stray sock or such object along the way. It was an attempt to keep the blond off guard, which was failing dismally by the way. Malfoy swung his hips to follow Weasley's drawn out progress towards him. What an appalling endeavour, as if he didn't know what the redhead was up to.

Malfoy was no idiot. Ron knew that not for one moment was Draco fooled by his charade. That curled lip was only becoming more saccharine coated the closer he got to his target. Ron gave up and did the one thing he told himself he would never do. He begged.

"Malfoy, please?" he beseeched the Slytherin, timidly holding out his hands toward Draco.

Oh this was even better. A submissive Weasley, he quite liked the thought of that. If he nudged him just a little further, could he get one of the coveted threesome to grovel at his feet? Probably not, but oh what dreams this act of prostration were going to fuel.

Ron swallowed his pride standing in front of the smarmy bastard like this, he knew he'd never hear the end of the ribbing he'd get from Malfoy for sinking this low, but the gift meant more to him then having to endure Malfoy's taunts.

"Please can I have the photo back?" Ron managed through gritted teeth.

Draco slid to the side, grazing Ron's fingers as he moved past him. Swinging around, he held the frame out for him to take.

Ron swallowed with difficulty as he reached...

With a chuckle Draco snatched his hand back before Ron could close his fist around the edge of the frame.

He closed his eyes, cursing Malfoy under his breath.

Draco danced around him for a moment before stopping directly in front of Ron. Gazing up at the tall redhead through dusky eyelashes, his moistened lips turned up at the corner of his mouth.

Evil never looked so tempting. Damn him.

Draco took one confident step into his personal space. Ron bristled at Malfoy's audacity. He stood motionless, wondering what the hell Draco was up to.

He didn't have to wait long as Draco's fingers took hold of his, sliding warmly across his Quidditch roughened skin before pressing the edge of the photo frame into his palm.

Ron gulped, sucking in air with his relief. He hadn't realised that he'd stopped breathing until the moment Draco handed him back the frame. It had been his grandmother's. Ron had only been a year shy of starting Hogwarts when she pulled him aside one visit and presented him with the frame. It had been the last time he'd seen her before she died.

Ron's fingers curled over the beaded brocade, he could feel each tiny silver bead under his skin as he closed his eyes fleetingly, lost in his happiness of having it back and the memories it evoked.

"Thank you," he whispered.

It was then that he felt the fingers circling his hand, a thumb rasping across the sensitive skin of his wrist. Ron gasped as the world tilted askew, his eyes flying open with the unwarranted assault. Hot breath fanned over his temple. Words were spoken, exhaled against his throat, a tease against his dry lips and all but consumed by the pounding of his own heart. He was everywhere at once, dizzying.

Draco began to lift Weasley's hand towards his mouth; the light dusting of freckles entranced him. He wanted so badly to taste each golden speckle.

Ron balked, snatching back his hand and clutching it to his chest as if Malfoy had just bitten him.

"What the...?"Ron yelped, mouth gaping as he struggled for an appropriate comeback.

Draco's touch was like a spider web, no matter how much he rubbed his hand over his sweater he couldn't erase the haze of fine tendrils from around his mind. Maddening.

Just then the door burst open and in stumbled Fred, immediately followed by George who managed to collide into his brother's back side, almost toppling them both over in the process. Grappling with Fred's torso for balance, George peeked over his shoulder to see what his brother was gawking at. What he found amused him highly and the twins gave each other a knowing smirk, before succumbing to fits of raucous laughter.

Their little brother was pinned against the side of his bed, eyes impossibly wide, shaking like some frightened rabbit cornered by a hungry fox. Draco Malfoy may be a pipsqueak- a wee blond imp - but he sure knew how to loom over his prey despite his itty bitty size. The twins felt obliged to tease mercilessly at the severe cuteness in front of them. They were surprisingly charitable like that.

"Awwwww..." they both chorused insipidly. "Is Ronnikins in need of rescuing from the clutches of the big bad Malfoy? Do you need our help or would you rather we left you two alone?"

Suffice it to say, Ron's embarrassment only deepened at their words. Oh fabulous. His brothers were now mocking him as they witnessed his extreme humiliation. How brilliant it was to have such caring siblings who thought your shame was the perfect opportunity to ridicule you further. What happened to Weasley's banding together, rallying to support each other in a crisis?

Ron took one look at those sadistically amused faces and knew it was hopeless; they were both enjoying themselves way too much to think of him. Perhaps if he told them that Malfoy had almost kissed him they might have hauled the blond off him, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit that to anyone. That would be like conjuring the spiders himself.

Malfoy was entirely too smug for his own good, basking in his glory at besting at least one Weasley. Ron wasn't going to let the boy demean him any further; he was disgusted with his own inaction. The Slytherin had him cowering in a corner of his own room for Merlin's sake, how dare...

Ron growled in the back of his throat, clenching his hands into fists as he stepped forward until he was nose to nose with the blond hell spawn.

Shaking off the instant clouding of his emotions at the proximity to Draco, Ron tightened his hold on the white hot rage that simmered in his belly. He let it flare brightly, withering any traces of longing that he'd imagined were there between them.

He was just about to introduce Malfoy to his fist when the horrible sound of glass being pulverized under foot reached his ears.

Oh Merlin...No!

All thoughts of busting Malfoy's lip vanished. Lifting his foot slowly, Ron almost didn't want to look. He knew exactly what he'd find and his heart caved at the confirmation.

It was as if the Earth had ceased to spin on its axis and in its wake everything around him had slowed down, voices he knew to be his brothers grew muffled. A fog had misted over his vision, or so he hoped it was a fog (inside and in his bedroom) because he really couldn't face the prospect of it being actual tears. To let Malfoy witness him crying would be the ultimate humiliation. His eyes burned with the desire to just scream, to howl out his pain, to kill that bastard for being the reason his Grandmother's frame made from her wedding dress lay in ruins at his feet. Each one of those perfect teardrop beads had been crushed under his enormous foot. His fault, all his...

Ron wanted nothing more than to crush until he was the one shattered beyond repair, but an overwhelming sense of loss, of grief was too much. He couldn't find the strength to even lift his arms, let alone strike Malfoy down.

Draco had actually blanched at the despair that had transformed Ron's face. Surely he wasn't about to cry over a crummy old photo. This was nauseating having Weasley practically blubbering over the demise of bit of cheap paper. Hell, if this is all it took to send the redhead into a complete wreck... he'd print off a hundred photos tomorrow of the trio and take pleasure in ripping them all into unrecognizable pieces.

Except, Draco felt no such gratification even now and as Ron walked past him, making the effort to avoid even brushing up against him, he could only gawk, bewildered by the shame he felt at causing Ron's misery.

Where in the fuck was this coming from? He didn't do contrition because he'd simply never been sorry for anything he'd done in his entire life.

There was no punch in the face from those hard fists, or a single solitary word from that mouth. Ron was too damn silent, so deathly calm that Draco could only assume that he had got it all so very wrong. This was not about a photo.

The door slammed. At least Ron had given him that, but it wasn't nearly enough.

Draco continued to stare blankly at the door, until he felt two pairs of eyes fixed on him from across the room. Defiantly he turned to face the twins, raising his chin slightly at the dual looks of sympathy directed at him.

"Oh mate, I pity you," George offered.

Draco only sneered at both of them, lifting his chin sharply. Like he needed or wanted their pity.

The twins left soon after, leaving Draco standing in the middle of Ron's bedroom very much alone.

It had been surprisingly easy to fly out of Hogwarts and at the back of his mind that fact disturbed Harry faintly. His leaving the grounds should have sparked great whopping alarm bells or at least the wards. It wasn't like Snape could go look for him, but that didn't mean there weren't other professors and members of the Order who wouldn't be sent out to bring him back soon enough.

To be honest Harry didn't even know where to begin looking for Dudley, but number four Privet Drive seemed as likely a beginning as any. He landed a few blocks from the Dursley's, keeping as close to the other houses as possible. Scanning the eerily still sky, he crept over the front lawn making his way towards the driveway.

A thick layer of fine snow had covered the suburban neighbourhood and for one hesitant moment Harry wondered if he even had the right house. A white blanket of snow had covered up everything in the garden that could distinguish the Dursley's home from any other on the street. It was then, as he was succumbing to a potentially hazardous panic attack, he recognized a particular shrub... the one Aunt Petunia had fashioned into a perfect sphere at the corner of the house. The covering of ice seemed to make it glow in the moonless night, softly beckoning to him from its lofty position in the garden. Harry sucked in a lungful of icy air; thank Merlin for his aunt's titanic obsession to best the neighbours with her green fingers. It was there that he decided to stash his broom, before cautiously heading for the back door.

The blackened windows of the house next door seemed to loom over him menacingly. This could very well be a trap. Actually, he was pretty damn certain of it. It was a splendid opportunity for Death Eaters to snatch him and take him back to their lord, but then when did Harry Potter ever heed warning signs?

Testing the back door, Harry was relieved to find that it was indeed still locked. Unfortunately, that meant very little as any marginally intelligent Death Eaters could have simply sealed the door behind them. Pointing the tip of his wand under the door, he uttered a quick reveal charm. Supposedly excellent in displaying for the conjurer the presence of Dark magic, it's only drawback a limit of a five metre radius from the tip of the wand.

The end of his wand radiated an ominous dark green, which, if Harry was reading correctly, was not exactly encouraging. It meant dark magic activity was present in the house. Of course he'd been prepared for such a result. It could also be deciphered as a lingering existence of dark magic and the wizards or witches had in fact left the premises, either way the evidence was inconclusive.

There was only one thing left to do.

"Alohomora!"

The door clicked softly open, swinging inward to reveal thick foreboding darkness. Harry gathered the remnants of his courage around him like a security blanket and stepped onto the welcome mat. His hot breath caused the freezing air to steam, curling around him, billowing about his robes as he moved further into the house. It was colder inside the house then it was outside on the street.

Harry passed the stairs and the tiny room under them where he lived for most his life before Hogwarts. He didn't even give it a second glance as he headed for the front of the house, the kitchen and the dining room. Systematically inspecting each room for clues, he ended up finding nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. Everything was immaculate and in its place, just as Aunt Petunia preferred.

Faced with the decision of mounting the stairs, Harry hesitated, wand held out in front of him. Eventually he took the first step. The meagre light from the tip of his wand did nothing to penetrate the gloom before him. If anything it seemed more compressed here, the air positively glacial, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up on end. A shiver trickled down his spine and Harry couldn't help the feeling that something was waiting for him at the top of those stairs. Swallowing hard, he willed himself to take another step, icy fingers around his throat, stealing his breath. He had to force down the desire to cast a stronger light, just so he could see what, if anything, was waiting in the dark for him. If the neighbours happened to notice his light and phoned the police, then his search would be over. Harry couldn't risk it.

One more step and then another, a mantra in his head that told him to keep moving upwards. Finally, he reached the landing for the second floor. Movement to his right caught his eye. Curse on the tip of his tongue as he whipped around to face his enemy only to realise it was a lace curtain at the end of the hall flapping in the wind.

Had the wind picked up? It had been so still when he arrived. A storm perhaps was brewing. The weather would mask some of his progress, making it more difficult, or so he hoped for someone to come after him. Sweeping his wand in an arc, he took in the fact that all the doors were closed before making his way right. He would check Dudley's room first and then his own, which was of course Dudley's second bedroom.

The curtains still danced in the wind at the end of the corridor. Harry lifted his wand to illuminate them but the glow was too weak to reach that distance. Switching, he pointed the wand at the first door as he approached warily. Harry only hoped that there was some clue as to where to go next. Malfoy manor was also a strong possibility but he had no idea how to get...

Oh my God, he nearly dropped his wand in his shock.

There was no curtain at the end of the corridor.

Aunt Petunia had hated the things and replaced the whole house with vertical blinds over the summer.

Harry had no time to react as he was slammed into by a dark mass, knocking him clean off his feet. He tried to scramble backwards, away from it. On his bottom, arms behind him doing all the work as his feet tried desperately to find purchase on the carpet. Just when he thought he had it, his legs buckled out from under him. The first wave of despair permeated his flesh, searing into every happy memory and driving him to his knees. Impact with the floor, wrenched the bones out of their socket, Harry screamed in agony. He slumped onto his side, jarring his hip but that was the least of his problems. His cheek pressed firmly into the carpet, those soft wool fibres mocking him. Their floral bouquet was nothing more than a tease as bitter cold misery penetrated his mind.

Harry was vaguely aware of the rasp of foul breath over his exposed cheek, a death rattle that mesmerized him. Bony fingers snatched at his jaw, forcing his head to turn towards the monster and face his own mortality. Harry refused, flailing uselessly, squeezing his eyes tight not wanting to witness the end.

"Expecto Patronum!" boomed through the house. With the voice disappeared the ice, the skeletal hand that had coveted his existence and the torment layered over all of it.

Those words had not fallen from his lips. His mind had taunted him, whispered seductively of their power, but he had neither strength nor a wand to conjure such a spell.

Harry blinked back the sorrow, the fear, before tilting his head to clap eyes on his rescuer.

A very pissed off Seamus Finnigan stood over him, glaring down at him.

Harry offered him a grateful smile. The silly sod must have followed him from Hogwarts.

Seamus' eyes narrowed for a fraction before offering his hand to Harry.

Harry placed his hand in Seamus' and let the boy haul him to his feet, where he promptly cried out in pain. He'd forgotten about his injured knee.

Easing him back on to the carpet, Seamus inspected Harry's knee. A flick of his wand later and the Irishman had one very relieved 'boy who lived' on his hands. It was awfully convenient having a mediwizard in training as a boyfriend.

"There was only one." Seamus spoke into his hair, arms wrapped tightly around him.

"I was a dolt for not expecting the Death Eaters would leave something behind as a gift." Harry cracked a brittle smile prior to claiming Seamus' throat in an aggressive kiss.

"Yes, you are an idiot for leaving the grounds without some kind of back-up." Seamus gasped. His breath whistling through clenched teeth as Harry dragged his tongue across his jugular while crawling into his lap.

Peeling Harry's body away from him reluctantly, Seamus shook the Gryffindor.

"Why are we here?"

Harry's lust glazed eyes glittered back into awareness.

"Dudley." He answered hollowly, shocked at his capacity to forget everything in Seamus' presence.

"Dudley? Your cousin Dudley?"

"Yes. I have to find him. He's in danger."

"But why, I thought the Dursley's treated you no better than their personal slave?" Seamus frowned.

Harry's eyes flickered. "They did- I mean they do... How do you know that? Never mind. I have to find him. its different now- I can't explain- you'll just have to trust me."

Seamus gazed at him a moment. "Okay," he whispered.

Harry gave a quick nod. Moving around the other Gryffindor, he reached the bedroom door and pushed it open. It was darker still in this room and Harry instantly flinched backwards at a gust a freezing air that buffeted him.

'Stupid, stupid' He didn't even have his wand with him. Seamus launched himself past Harry but this time it was an open window and a storm was indeed brewing. Harry smacked his hand onto his forehead. Where was his head lately? Scooping up his wand from the corridor where he'd dropped it, he joined Seamus in Dudley's room.

Seamus stood near the open window; it wasn't until Harry got closer that he noticed the crumpled form under the windowsill.

"No!" Harry choked out. "Damn him. No." he wailed, fury and grief in the same breath.