Somewhere else, a dark-haired boy was thinking about Ginny Weasley just as much as Harry Potter was, and calling himself the same names: prat, prick, and fool, although for different reasons. While Harry Potter had already had Ginny Weasley and given her up, Draco Malfoy had never even given her a chance. He had been too blinded by his father's prejudices to look at a Weasley with anything but contempt. But after his failed attempt to murder Dumbledore, he had spent a lot of time thinking about how much of who he was had been dictated by his father, and how little of it had actually been who he really was. He had been jealous of Golden Boy Potter because he was surrounded by people who loved him, professors who let him get away with murder, and worship from everyone. But in the past months, Draco had realized that Potter was lonely, and hated all the attention. He begrudgingly admired Potter, and realized that his own life at Hogwarts had been a series of mistakes, in the desperate and futile attempt to please his father. Killing Dumbledore had been the last task, and he had blown it. But it didn't matter. He had realized his mistake and fled, dreading Lord Voldemort's wrath. Since then he had carefully shielded himself using the occlumency techniques that Snape had taught him on the sly. Snape had told him that it was to protect himself from Dumbledore, but now he wondered if perhaps Snape had known what was going to happen.

Draco had now spent three months wondering from wretched muggle hovel to wretched muggle hovel, hoping to avoid the Dark Lord's attention. He smiled darkly at himself, and at the penance that he was paying for a lifetime of luxury at the expense of others' misery. He regretted every occasion that he had kicked a house-elf. He would have been grateful now for Dobby, but Dobby worshipped Harry Potter and hated everything to do with the house of Malfoy. He held himself very still as a rat crawled over his foot, and then suddenly grabbed it and broke its neck. He, a Malfoy, was reduced to eating rats. He couldn't afford to buy food, he had no muggle money, and all of his galleons and sickles and knuts were locked away safe in a vault at Gringotts at the very least, and most likely they had been confiscated. Who knew how long even Gringotts would be safe. The break-in first year had proved that the wizarding bank wasn't as impregnable as everyone had thought, and Hogwarts had proved to be just as vulnerable. Through his own planning, he thought miserably. The Death Eaters were gaining in power everyday, although the Ministry still put out a brave front. Even muggles were noticing things. How could they not? Voldemort didn't care if the wizarding world was exposed. He was methodically destroying it, brick by brick, and if muggles got caught in the crossfire, so much the better. Draco slammed his fist down on the dirty floor, raging at the blindness that had inflicted him his entire life.

But he held on to one thought. Ginny. Ginny he thought could redeem him, somehow.