Ron's parents were arguing again.

It seemed they had been fighting a lot lately, sequestering themselves to the kitchen during the late hours of the night, hissing to each other, twisted faces highlighted only by the glow of their wands. The arguments had started after the Daily Prophet made a rather shocking announcement — an announcement that made Ron more uneasy than he was willing to admit.

Naturally, it upset his mother too.

"With a murderer on the loose?" she whispered. "They're just kids, Arthur! Everyone knows he's looking for the Potter boy — and all but one are in Gryffindor with him! What if Black shows up to the common room? Or one of Ron's classes? They're in the same year, you know!"

"Molly, please," Ron's father said, gripping her by the shoulders. "Hogwarts is chockful of professors there to keep the kids safe, Dumbledore included."

"Like he did the last time?" Ron's mother snapped. "With the Muggle-born girl that nearly died?"

"This is different. Remus Lupin is joining the staff this year, and with him around, Black won't stand a chance getting in unnoticed. Remus knows him better than he knows himself . . . even at his worst, I reckon."

"If that were true, he would've saved Lily and James."

Her fingers were curled around the edge of the counter. The expression on her face was grave, and the bags carved beneath her eyes told a tale of many sleepless nights.

As Ron spied on them from the doorframe, he wondered just how long she'd been thinking of removing him and his siblings from school.

"They'll be okay," Ron's father murmured. "I promise you they will."

Ron's mother sniffled before melting into his father's embrace, crying softly into his chest.

"But we don't know that, Arthur," she sobbed. "All of these tragedies at the school . . . It feels like before."

Ron's father rubbed her back.

"I know," he cooed. "I know."

It was the last thing Ron heard before he quietly turned on his heel and returned to his room. The moment seemed too private — even for an eavesdropping Slytherin.


Riding the Hogwarts Express was always a jolly occasion. After a lonely holiday and lots of questions about his return to school, Ron was grinning from ear-to-ear, exchanging post-summer catchup with his friends. They had a lot to talk about, especially since Goyle had apparently been gifted a new owl for passing his courses.

"She's a beaut, isn't she?" Goyle said, holding up the bird's cage. "Named her Alfetia after my grandmum. She squawks about as much."

"I've been to your house, Goyle, no one squawks as much as your grandmum," Blaise Zabini pointed out.

"She didn't used to be so bad. But she's gotten chattier since she died . . . Always on about her gardener. Guess she wanted him painted in her portrait but won't say why."

Blaise and Ron snorted.

"Fascinating, Gregory, really," Pansy Parkinson chided. "Now, before we get to the school, I have some important news. It's about Daphne ."

"What about her?" Crabbe made the mistake of asking.

"Obviously something extremely interesting that won't at all bore us to death," Nott muttered.

"Oh, you're all going to lose your heads ," Pansy replied, ignoring Theodore. "It's probably the worst thing I've ever heard about a girl in our house — and that's including the whole Millicent eating her salamander thing."

Crabbe leaned in, seemingly interested, but Ron turned his attention to the passing scenery. If there was one thing he had learned since joining Slytherin House, it was to ignore Pansy.

Of course, it became harder when her voice was constantly growing in volume.

". . . and then, Daphne said — oh you won't believe what she said — she told my mother that her dowry will be in negotiations soon. Negotiations! My mother, of course, explained this is her hand in marriage and if negotiations are coming up, it better be in her favor. But get this: her father added to the dowry so she had a better chance to marry whoever this — this boy is." Pansy crossed her arms and shook her head. "It's shameful, really. She's a Greengrass , it's not like she's a half-blood or something. My father would never increase the dowry just to marry me off. But obviously , I don't have to worry about that ."

She grinned at Draco, but he seemed to be paying little attention to her, instead reading a parchment he held firmly in his grip. Ron wondered if he had mastered the art of tuning her out even when she was loud.

If he did, it was probably for the best. Ron couldn't imagine being married to her.

In fact, he felt a bit sick thinking about it.

"Pansy, let me ask you something," Nott drawled, his tone thoughtful.

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"Do you ever shut your bloody mouth?"

Ron sniggered, stopping only when he realized he might offend Draco. However, his friend seemed unperturbed by the slight against his future wife or her splutters at Theodore Nott. He was far too focused on the parchment.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked, leaning over to read what it said.

"Nothing," Draco muttered. He folded the parchment in thirds before Ron could take a proper look at it. "Just details on my classes."

"No wonder it's taking you so long to read. You took — what — nine of them?" Ron shook his head. "Have no idea how you plan on managing it, mate. There aren't enough hours in the day."

Draco stiffened. "I'll be fine. Snape's figured something out for me."

"What d'you mean he's figured something — bloody hell!"

The train had gone dark. It was abrupt, almost as though someone had put a curse on the train car.

Alas, it was not the darkness that caused Ron to panic. It was the overwhelming sense of melancholy that washed over him. His chest felt like it was sinking — collapsing even. He had gone cold, and before he knew it, the windows had too . . .

They were caked in a sheet of ice.

"Dr-Draco, I'm scared," Pansy whispered.

"It'll be fine, Pansy," Draco replied, though he did not sound so sure of himself. "Just relax, and be quiet. Please."

For once, Pansy didn't seem angry when someone asked her to stop talking.

The group of Slytherins waited for what seemed like hours, and with each passing second, Ron could feel his happiness being stolen from him. He had heard of this magic before — his father mentioned they used creatures that did this in Azkaban.

But he never thought he would come across it on the Hogwarts Express.

After several moments, Theodore Nott pulled him out of his waking nightmare.

"Screw this," Nott spat. "I'm going to go see what's going on."

Ron furrowed his brow and glanced at Draco. He could barely make out his platinum outline, but even through the fog, he could see that Pansy was clinging to his side.

Ron wanted to choke her more than usual, yet he didn't know why.

He blamed the miserable fog.

It was starting to drag him into its treacherous depths. He was fading — fading away into nothingness. No, into rage . Into hatred and fear and —

Then, it was gone.

The compartment door opened. Nott sat down beside him as though nothing happened at all.

"Potter fainted," he said with a snort.

"Wait, really?" Draco asked, pushing Pansy away from him. "He actually fainted ?"

"Draco!" Pansy screeched. "You can't just —"

"Yeah, hit his head so hard Granger was crying. Some bloke had to cast a spell and shove chocolate in his mouth." Nott made a face. "Suspect the weirdo was just itching for a reason to put his fingers in there. Seemed like a right freak."

"He fainted," Draco repeated, snickering. "Weasley, are you hearing this?"

"Sure am. Potter fainted like a little girl."

Ron buried his secret in a smirk, pretending that he himself hadn't felt the need to pass out. It was embarrassing, after all. Something he would have to lock away. Just another secret in the House of Slytherin.

He wondered what secrets the other houses had. He wondered if they even had the sense to keep secrets.


They started the term with a warning.

Dumbledore addressed what had been in the papers, the news that had driven Ron's mother to question his return to Hogwarts. The headmaster explained that they would be safe — that Dementors would be guarding the castle, that there was nothing to fear.

Ron feared the Dementors more than he feared Sirius Black.

After the incident on the train, he never wanted to go near them again.

"Can't believe they're leaving those things by the entrances," he muttered, his mouth full. "Especially considering what they did to Scarhead . "

"I don't really mind them," Draco replied with a shrug.

"I do," said Pansy. "I'm just glad Draco's so brave . I don't think I'll be able to walk to class alone anymore. I'll need him to protect me."

She gave Draco a pointed glance, batting her long eyelashes in a sickly-sweet manner she had apparently adopted since the previous year. Ron wondered if the Dementors actually did scare her, or if it was all some sort of tactic to keep Draco glued to her side.

Either way, she was annoying, and Ron wished she was in any house but his.

"If you're really afraid of them, I imagine you'll have better luck with the new professor than you will with Draco, Parkinson," Nott said, gesturing the staff table. "That's the one that gave Potter the chocolate. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"He's the one that got rid of the Dementors, right?" Ron asked, hopefully.

"Yeah. Made it look easy."

"What was his name again?" Draco asked. "I didn't recognize it."

"Lupin," Nott replied.

Suddenly, Scabbers squeaked loudly, writhing around in Ron's pocket. Ron frowned and offered him a small nibble of cheese.

"What's going on with your pocket?" Goyle inquired.

"It's just Scabbers," Ron said, confused. "He went crazy for a second there . . ."

"Probably because he's a hundred years old," Draco spat. "I still have no idea how that bloody thing isn't dead yet."

"He's not that old," Ron muttered. "Just . . . thirteen or so."

"Thirteen?" Blaise asked. "That's ancient for a rat, isn't it?"

In all honesty, Ron had no idea.


A curse. That's what long legs were, Ron was sure of it. At least they were when they were shoved beneath a teensy table.

He was seated upon a large pillow, yellow in color and terribly uncomfortable. It, along with a dozen others like it, surrounded a number of short tables that were placed haphazardly around the room.

It was one of those tables that had trapped his legs, causing his knees to clunk against the underside and his toes to cramp no matter how much he tried to move them. He always thought being tall was a good thing. But now, here in this bizarre classroom, his mind was changing by the second.

Strangely, the chairless tables were not the oddest thing about the place.

The tower classroom was small and stuffy, with the scent of burning herbs filling the air and colorful quilts hanging upon the walls. Beads dangled from nearly every surface, and it seemed that no matter where he looked, there was some new gaudy bauble that caught his attention.

He nearly thought there was a spell causing them to multiply.

Professor Trelawney, though she and Ron were the only two in the room, didn't seem to notice his discomfort. She fussed with clay pots and candles as she waited for the rest of the class to arrive, murmuring to herself and occasionally adjusting her large glasses. Once in awhile, she would glance at him, only to continue fussing once more.

Eventually, Slytherins slowly poured in.

Crabbe and Goyle plopped onto two of the other pillows at Ron's table, not bothering to pull out their textbooks or their quills. Ron chewed on his lip when he saw Pansy enter. He inwardly thanked Merlin when she decided not to take the pillow to his right.

Instead, she sat with Daphne and Tracey, glowering at him from afar.

He assumed that she knew Draco would pick his table, and when Draco stumbled in, nearly late, he did just that.

Ron frowned. He wondered what took his friend so long.

"Where were you?" he asked. "I was looking for you after Transfiguration."

"I had something to tend to," Draco replied stiffly, unpacking his things.

"Oh. I guess I just figured we'd walk here together. It was a bit weird, mate. Like you disappeared."

Draco glared at him. "Surely, you don't need me to hold your hand to class like some kind of girl?"

"No, of course not," Ron said, his tone sour.

"Good. Then there shouldn't be any reason to go looking for me next time."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Professor Trelawney waved her hands in the air, her bracelets jingling all the while. The movement was frantic.

"Simmer down, children! Simmer down! I know the great beyond is exciting, but I do promise, there will be plenty of time for chitchat after class . . ."

Draco rolled his eyes. Ron would have mirrored him if he wasn't so perplexed by their interaction mere seconds before.

"Today, we will be delving into one of the most basic — yet telling! — forms of Divination," Trelawney announced. She clasped her hands together. "Tell me, children, what do you all know about tea leaves ?"


Care of Magical Creatures was, somehow, even worse than Divination.

Ron was alarmed by his growling textbook, but still, he tried to open it for the first time, eager to see what they would be learning about that day. Unfortunately, he'd made the wrong decision.

The book lunged for his face, showering him in shredded parchment.

Goyle pulled the book off of him, wrestling it to the ground as though it were a wild animal. He then sat on it until Crabbe was able to latch it, too busy to notice that Ron had already earned a long cut across his cheek.

Potter and Longbottom found the event particularly funny.

Ron reminded himself to teach Potter a lesson on the Quidditch pitch during the Slytherin-Gryffindor game. His revenge on Longbottom would take some planning, but Ron would get him back too . . . eventually .

Fred and George made fun of him enough for a lifetime. He wasn't about to take it from Neville Longbottom.

Draco always said the boy was "the Gryffindorkiest", after all.

Ron smirked at the thought.

By the time the Gryffindors had stopped laughing at his plight, Hagrid, the idiotic giant, emerged from behind his hut, completely unaware what had happened. The book that he assigned had harmed a student, and Ron suspected if he knew, he would not even care.

Granger, however, did.

She raised her hand. "Excuse me, Hagrid?"

"Ah! A question! Me very first one," the giant said, his tone nervous. "Yes, 'ermione! Ask away!"

With a worried expression, she said, "Hagrid, I'm a bit concerned about this book . . . Ronald Weasley just tried to open it and it attacked him . . . I meant to start it over the summer, but it always tried to bite me too, so I guess I'd like to point out there is the issue of student safety . . ."

Ron never thought the swot would come to his rescue, but he should've known she would jump at any excuse to lecture somebody.

The giant turned crimson.

"Oh no," he said. "It attacked 'im? Did the shop not tell yeh all how ter open it?"

The class, in unison, shook their heads.

"Well, that's a ruddy shame . . . I didn' mean no harm givin' it to yeh. It's the bes' book I could find, yeh see. An' they was supposed to instruct all of yeh on how ter open it! Shop's fault, I reckon . . ."

Granger did not look so sure, and neither did anyone else.

"So how do you open it?" Parvati Patil dared to ask.

"Yeh hafta stroke the spine, o' course. Pretty obvious when yeh think about it, innit?"

Ron did not think it was very obvious at all, and judging by the confused looks on the other students' faces, they didn't think so either.

Alas, several of them stroked the book's spine, amazed by the results as their monstrous volumes opened without a fuss.

"But enough abou' the books!" Hagrid exclaimed, clapping his giant hands together. "We won't be needin' 'em today!"

Whispers filled the air as people shut The Monster Book of Monsters , some seeming excited, others anxious.

Ron was erring on the side of anxiety.

"I 'ope yer all ready for quite the treat, as I 'ave some special creatures I'd like ter introduce all of yeh to."

Draco glanced at Ron, curiosity in his eyes. Ron wasn't sure what 'special creatures' Hagrid could possibly be referring to, but he was happy to see his friend acknowledge him, so he fought a smile and shrugged his shoulders.

"First, I hafta warn yeh: They can be a bit unfriendly if yeh approach 'em wrong. I wan' all of yeh teh stay back until I give yeh instructions. Can yeh manage 'at?"

Everyone murmured their agreement — except Draco, Ron, and Goyle. Crabbe was suddenly impersonating each word the giant said, dramatically waving his finger in the air.

Ron's nerves were successfully staved off, as he was far too preoccupied with trying not to burst out into a fit of laughter. Crabbe wasn't good at much, but his Hagrid impression was spot on.

"Follow me, then, follow me," the giant said, completely oblivious of the fact that he was being mocked. "Be slow! No runnin' up on 'em. They're easily spooked . . ."

Both the Slytherins and the Gryffindors circled the hut, Ron and Malfoy laughing as Goyle joined Crabbe in imitating the way the giant walked. The two boys waddled like that all the way to the pen Hagrid had led them to, and then suddenly, their snickers came to a stop.

Ron had no idea what the creatures in the pen were, but they certainly did not look very friendly.

And they were big .

"Hagrid, what are —"

Before Potter could finish, Granger cut him off, seemingly furious.

"Hippogriffs?" she hissed. She stroked the spine of The Monster Book of Monsters and started thumbing through the pages. "Hagrid, the book doesn't say anything about —"

"They ain' in the book!" the giant announced. "But they ought to be! Fine creatures. Proud creatures. Easily offended."

"Offended?" said Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor who always seemed to make things explode. "How can birds be offended ?"

Hagrid gave him a dark look. "I said what I meant, Finnigan. Don't never insult one. It might be the last thing yeh do." Then, as though he hadn't said anything of great concern, he grinned. "So who'd like ter try and pet one?"

The crowd went quiet.

After a long moment, Potter and Granger started a muffled argument. Ron did not hear much except Granger whispering, "Harry no!" and ". . . because it's too dangerous!"

Potter, apparently, did not care to listen to her, as he took a step forward in the end, ignoring the look of chagrin on the swot's face.

Ron shook his head. Only the Scarhead could be so stupid.

The giant led Potter into the pen before asking him to bow to one of the hideous birds. Potter did as he was told, and Ron was surprised to see the bird bowed back.

Hagrid took this as a good sign, pushing Potter to pet the creature with the same caution as he would "a rather nasty housecat."

To the class's amazement, the bird didn't seem to mind being touched at all.

"Buckbeak really seems ter like yeh, 'arry," Hagrid said. "Bet yeh could take 'im for a ride if yeh wanted."

Potter shook his head, but the giant was already moving towards him, his gargantuan arms held out. Despite the Scarhead's grousing, the giant lifted him up onto the creature, and within just a few seconds, the bird was in the air, Potter on its back.

"This is going to end badly," Longbottom said.

"Or hilariously," Draco muttered to Ron.

Ron grinned, basking in the fact that he and Draco seemed to be on good terms.

"Hagrid, I can't believe you!"

Granger was stalking towards the gate of the pen.

"Looks like the show's about to get even better," Draco noted.

Granger opened the gate and stormed inside, jabbing her finger at the giant in a grand display of entertainment that left all of the Slytherins smirking.

"He could die !" she shrieked at Hagrid. "Do you have any idea how irresponsible it was to let him — to let him ride it! Hagrid, they're dangerous, they're unpredictable, they're —"

Ron didn't listen to the rest of her rant. Instead, he leaned in towards Draco and pointed out a detail that may have been additional evidence in their theory that Potter and Granger were, in fact, a rather vomit-inducing item.

"She's awfully worried about Potter."

"Yeah, well this morning in Arithmancy she wouldn't shut up about him. They're fighting or something."

"Arithmancy?" Ron said, frowning. "But isn't that at the same time as —"

But before he could finish his question, Potter was landing, Granger was screaming, and the other hippogriffs were ruffling their feathers.

"Come on, everyone. Away from the pen! Hurry up," Hagrid pushed. He glanced at Hermione. "They don' like noise."

Granger was fuming, but Ron couldn't even care enough to make fun of her for it anymore. He was too confused about Draco's class schedule — and too confused why he was clearly hiding something about it.


"I still have no idea how you're getting to all these classes," Ron said, chasing Draco through the corridor. "It makes no sense, mate. Ancient Runes and Divination are —"

"Important classes Draco has the sense to take," a clipped voice said. "You know, you could follow your friend's good example and manage a few extra courses yourself, Ronald."

Ron was shocked to find Hermione Granger had rounded on him, books tucked under her arm. At her side was an ugly, orange cat. It hissed at his pocket.

"Hey! Your mangy little demon is hissing at my rat! It's scaring him!"

"That mangy little demon is a half-Kneazle," Granger announced, craning her neck. "He's an excellent judge of character, which makes perfect sense, doesn't it? Any animal that likes you must be absolutely awful."

"How dare you —"

"Draco, are you coming or not?" she asked.

Ron furrowed his brow and glanced at Draco, curious why the swot was suddenly under the impression they would be attending classes together.

"Yeah, I'm er — I'm coming," Draco muttered, kicking at the cobblestone floor. "I'll just be a quick second —"

She glared daggers at him.

"Tick-tock, Draco. You know what McGonagall and Snape said."

"I know," Draco snarled. "I'll be right there, okay?"

"Fine. I'll meet you in our usual spot."

Granger turned on her heel and marched away, the cat hot on her trail, leaving Ron the most perplexed he had been since entering Hogwarts.

"Can you explain why you and Hermione Granger have a usual spot ?" Ron asked, incredulous.

"It's complicated, okay?" Draco replied, shoving past him. "I can't tell you."

"You aren't — you aren't dating her, are you?"

"What? No, of course not. That's disgusting. She's a —" Draco frowned. "It's really not a big deal. Just leave it alone, okay? I have to go."

Then, without a word, Draco took the path Granger had. Ron almost followed him, but he was too shocked to move.


Granger complained for weeks. In Potions, in Defense Against the Dark Arts — she never stopped moaning on about the hippogriff incident. Of course, since it was about the giant, Ron found it rather funny, especially since it seemed to put a damper in her and Potter's relationship.

". . . and he put you in danger . I don't get what you don't understand about that," she yammered on, completely oblivious to the rattling wardrobe in the middle of the classroom. "You're already good enough at that without his help, but he's a teacher . Honestly ."

"Miss Granger," Professor Lupin, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, said. "If you wouldn't mind complaining about my colleagues at a later time, I am in the middle of the lesson and I suspect it may be important to listen to the instructions."

Granger flared her nostrils, earning a smirk from Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy, since you seem to think Miss Granger's frustrations are so funny, how about you go first?"

Draco's face drained of all color.

Ron almost argued, because he thought it rather unfair, but instead, he kept his mouth shut. There was no sense in losing points over a silly boggart, anyway. His father got those out of their cupboards all the time.

Jaw clenched, Draco marched to the shaking wardrobe.

"Wand at the ready," Lupin said, his own wand drawn. He made a motion with it. "When I open this door, you're going to picture something funny about what you see. And then, I want you to make this movement with your wand. As you do, say 'Ridikkulus' ! Easy enough?"

Draco gave a stiff nod.

Ron watched in awe, wondering just what it was that Draco feared most. His friend had always seemed to strong — so incapable of fearing much of anything.

When Lupin finally opened the door, Ron was not amazed. He wasn't even surprised.

He was confused .

Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the wardrobe, slapping his cane against the palm of his hand. He approached Draco, his lip curled in a sneer and —

"R-Ridikkulus!"

Suddenly, Lucius's cane turned into a licorice wand. It bent and morphed each time Lucius hit his palm with it, twisting at the will of the gelatinous candy. Then, his hands were not hands at all, but massive gloves that resembled a pair from an old fairytale Ron read as a boy. Suddenly, the gloves were pushing him back, back into the wardrobe. Back where the boggart belonged.

The door shut.

Lupin clapped, as did several others in the class. Only a select few Slytherins did not applaud his performance.

Ron, suspecting they were just as frazzled as he was, slowly joined in on the clapping, elbowing Nott to do the same. Nott got the message, and so did Zabini and Pansy. Crabbe and Goyle, on the other hand, were not as bright.

Draco hung his head lowly as he returned to his spot beside Ron.

"Well done, Mr. Malfoy, very well done!" Lupin exclaimed. He let out an awkward chuckle. "Quite a terrifying boggart indeed, I'd say."

Ron decided not to ask why Draco's boggart was his father. Instead, he was quiet until Potter did something worth poking fun at, which Ron did, of course. The Scarhead had to face his Dementor boggart just a few minutes after Draco faced his, making him the only one that was unable to finish the task at hand.

As Lupin stepped in to save Potter from his own fear, Ron kept thinking about the elephant in the room.

What was so scary about Lucius Malfoy? And what had he done that would make him his own son's biggest fear?

Ron wanted to know — but he knew he could never ask.

At least, he couldn't ask Draco .


Finally, it came time for Ron's first trip to Hogsmeade. His brothers had always spoken so highly of the place, so naturally, Ron always imagined his first visit to the Three Broomsticks would be a joyous one. He thought it would be filled with butterbeer and laughs and good times with even better friends.

Sadly, he felt sick before he even walked inside.

That day, he planned on getting answers, and if Draco found out what he was doing, he feared they might never be friends again.

Fortunately, for the first time in his life, Ron's lack of gold served him well.

"Can't wait to try a butterbeer," Crabbe said, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "Been waitin' for ages to finally get one."

"I'm gonna drink my face off," Goyle chimed in.

The others murmured in agreement as they found a table, though Draco did not sit down. Instead, he frowned at Ron.

"You can't even afford a butterbeer, can you?"

Sheepish, Ron shook his head. "Probably not, mate. No big deal, though. I'll just take a sip of yours or something."

"Like hell you will," Draco growled. "I don't want your slobber all over my goblet. I'd much rather just buy you your own."

Ron beamed. "You'd do that?"

"Since the alternative is having your spit in my drink, yes , I think I'd rather pay the extra bloody Sickle. Certainly, that's less disgusting, implications or not." Draco shook his head. "You can hold our table while we go to the bar."

So Ron did.

He waited patiently as Blaise, Nott, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle ordered their drinks, grinning when Draco finally set the goblet full of butterbeer in front of him. The wait had been about ten minutes long — plenty of time for Ron to come up with a rather clever plan.

If it worked, he would be able to ask his questions about Lucius in no time.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said. "I owe you."

"It was a Sickle. Don't get your knickers in a bunch," Draco muttered. He raised his eyebrows and turned to Blaise. "So, I heard you . . ."

Ron drowned out the rest of the conversation. Blood pounded in his ears as he reached into his pocket, fishing around for one of Scabbers's many shed hairs. When he found one, he eyed Draco, ensuring that he was too busy to pay him any attention.

Then, he turned his back and dropped the hair in the goblet.

Swiveling around, he shouted, "YUCK! There's a — there's a hair in my drink!"

Draco grimaced. "A hair?"

"Yeah, mate, I don't — I don't think I can drink this," Ron said, managing his best squeamish face. He held the hair up as proof. "It's not even the same length as Rosmerta's! Merlin knows who it belongs to!"

"They'll probably just give you another one if you go ask," Blaise said.

Ron bit his lip. "What if they think I stole it from someone? I haven't been up to the bar."

"They won't think you stole it. That's stupid," Blaise retorted.

Ron prepared for his most convincing act yet.

" You've never been poor," he sighed. "I get accused of stealing stuff all the time. Can't exactly hide this hair, you know. Everyone knows I'm a Weasley . . . and everyone knows Weasleys are poor ."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'll get you a new bloody drink. Just stop talking about being poor so loudly. It makes us look bad."

And with that, Draco swiped the goblet from in front of him and went back to the bar.

Ron held back a grin. His plan had worked.

"While he's up there . . ." he started slowly. "Can I ask you guys something? Just between us?"

Blaise narrowed his eyes. "Depends on what it is."

Ron decided to take the risk.

"Well, I've been wondering if there's something wrong with his father."

"You mean because of his boggart?" Nott asked. "It's really not a big deal, Weasley. Just mind your business, yeah?"

"Sure felt like a big deal to me. My boggart would never be my dad."

Blaise shrugged. "Some fathers are a bit strict. Suppose Draco's father is one of them."

Nott snorted. "As if you know anything about fathers. Hasn't your mum killed all six of yours?"

"There weren't —" Blaise flushed. "Look, Weasley, I know your poor little Gryffindork family probably talks about feelings and family and all that nonsense, but traditional families do things a bit different. Just let it go. Draco's fine. If it weren't for McGonagall, my mother would be my boggart too."

Before Ron could reply, he saw Draco coming back towards the table, a goblet in hand.

Ron's trick had worked, but he still had no answers, and he actually felt pretty bad about lying to his very best friend.

He decided he wouldn't be doing it again.


Someone was touching him.

Someone was reaching in his pocket.

Someone was whispering —

Ron woke with a jolt, immobile due to sheer terror. In the semidarkness, he could only see the outline of a man. A man in prison robes and —

"Hey, that's my rat!" Ron shouted, seizing his wand from beside him.

The man scurried out of the room, dodging Ron's various spells. Ron tried everything. A Jelly-Legs Jinx. The Leg-Locker Curse. Even a rather nasty one Draco taught him called a Stinging Jinx. The other boys were waking up, asking what was happening, asking who Ron had been trying to curse.

"Wazzgoinon?" Goyle garbled.

"Whowazyoujinxin'?" Crabbe mumbled.

Ron glanced at them both, preparing to answer, but he was stunned into silence by what he saw.

The orange cat with the ugly, flat face.

Hermione Granger's cat.

It was by Goyle's bed, licking its paws. Almost as though it planned the whole thing itself. Almost as though it had been plotting against Scabbers. Plotting since the day it hissed at his pocket.

"That was —" Ron's chest was rising and falling. "It was —"

"Who was it? Someone playing a prank?" Draco asked, yawning.

Ron shook his head.

"It was Sirius Black."


Snape rarely offered expressions other than his tiny smirks and the signature sneer he saved for the Gryffindorks. In fact, Ron was certain he had only seen Snape smile twice since he started at Hogwarts, and he did not think he ever saw him wear a look of pure shock.

That was, until that night.

Tanya Westing, another Slytherin prefect, escorted Ron to visit the professor after his run-in with Black. It took a lot of shouting on Ron's part, as boys weren't allowed in the girls' dormitory, but with Flint being gone as usual, he had no other options.

"You're sure it wasn't some kind of prank?" Tanya had asked, rubbing her eyes.

"It wasn't a prank. Why does everyone keep thinking that?"

"All right, then," she'd replied with a sigh. "Follow me . . . what was your name again?"

" Ron Weasley."

"Ah, right. Fred and George's brother. They're actually pretty funny for Gryffindors."

Tanya led him into the corridor, straight to a portrait of a woman with a tall hat. It was not far from the Slytherin common room, to Ron's relief.

Tanya touched her wand to the portrait and the hatted woman gave a nod. She left the frame, and within a few moments, the frame swung open as thought it were a door, revealing Professor Snape dressed in his nightthings.

"This best be an emergency, Miss Westing," he drawled. "I had just nearly fallen asleep."

Tanya cleared her throat. "It — it is, sir. Weasley here, he — he had a run-in with Black."

Snape's eyes widened in horror.

"You are sure?" he asked slowly.

Ron gulped. "He stole my rat, sir."

Snape furrowed his brow, but nodded, nonetheless.

"Miss Westing, please wait here with Mr. Weasley. I think it would be best if I fetch Professor McGongall and Professor Lupin to assist with this . . . development."

So there Ron waited, awkwardly standing with a prefect he hardly knew, waiting to tell his story of nearly being murdered.

And it was all in his pajamas.

When Snape finally returned, McGonagall and Lupin were at his side, McGonagall seeming rather flustered and Lupin seeming strangely fascinated.

Ron still wasn't sure if he liked that Lupin bloke or not.

"Miss Westing, you may go. Be safe on your way back to the Slytherin dormitories," McGonagall said. She then turned back to Ron. "Mr. Weasley, this news is . . . troubling to say the least. Please, do tell us everything that happened."

So he did. He explained that he had been asleep, waking up to feel someone touching his leg, and then fishing around in his pocket. Snape had cocked an eyebrow at that, so Ron quickly clarified that he was a victim of a crime, but not of the sort Snape seemed to think.

"It wasn't — it wasn't like he was some kind of freak ," he explained. "It was like . . . how you touch someone when you're afraid of waking them up. Like he was testing me. I barely felt it, but I remember it . . . He — he reached in my pocket right after. I keep my rat in my pocket, you see. He likes it there. He's fond of the pocket in my pajamas . . . softer than the one in those itchy robes, I imagine . . ."

"Very troubling, very troubling indeed . . ." Snape drawled. His eyes slid towards Lupin. "It seems your pet dog still likes the dark, Remus."

Lupin ignored him, but Ron was confused what Snape meant by that. He then recalled the night his father said Lupin knew Black — knew him better than himself . . .

"And what happened next?" Lupin asked, knocking Ron out of his own thoughts.

"And then he — he took my rat, sir," Ron said sadly. "He ran off with him."

Lupin frowned. "Your . . . rat?"

Ron nodded. "Yes, Scabbers is his name. I've had him for ages. He's got only four toes on one foot but no one's really sure what happened to him . . . My brother, Percy —"

"A rat," Lupin repeated, glancing at McGonagall. "It couldn't be —"

McGonagall didn't let him finish his sentence, to Ron's annoyance. He had been quite curious what the professor was going to say. After all, he apparently knew Black rather well. Perhaps, he would know why a deranged murderer wanted his old, four-toed rat.

"Mr. Weasley, I urge you to calm down. The staff will be watching you closely." She turned to Snape. "Severus, please send all the students to the Great Hall. If Black is in the castle, it's of the utmost importance that we can protect them all. It will be easier if they're in one place."

Snape nodded and started down the corridor, his step fast and purposeful.

"Mr. Weasley, please follow him. Professor Lupin and myself will be looking for Black, and your . . . rat."

Ron nodded and began moving down the corridor, only to turn around and say, "I think Hermione Granger might be involved."

"That's a very serious accusation, Mr. Weasley. I know you are not particularly fond of Miss Granger, but —"

"It's got nothing to do with me not liking her. I only say it because her cat was there. Her cat was with Sirius Black."

McGonagall looked at Lupin. They both seemed just as confused as Ron was.


Ron lay awake, staring at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. To his right was Draco, and while this should have comforted him, he was not sure that anything could comfort him.

The professors were searching the castle, but on the other side of the Great Hall was Hermione Granger, the very girl he suspected had helped Black into the castle. He wondered if it was some strange type of revenge. She had been mad at Potter, after all.

Then, there was a niggling part of him he wanted to deny.

The part that questioned if Draco knew something about it.

He had been chummy with Granger, after all, and he didn't have much explanation for it.

Terrified by the thought, Ron rolled onto his side, deciding he was actually glad to be going home for Christmas that year.


The Burrow was better than Hogwarts, for once, set aside his mother's fussing. She pulled him into a hug, thanking Merlin for his safety and swearing she wouldn't let him out of her sight again.

Ron was as bright as a tomato, but still, he was appreciative of her. He was even appreciative of his hideous sweater he received — the same color and fabric he received every year, and never wore.

He wasn't eager to return to the school.

But he had to.

Back to where Sirius Black attacked him.


Time passed, and little seemed to change. Black was still at large. Flint was still sneaking out to spy on the Gryffindor girls. Pansy Parkinson still babbled on about her future marriage to Draco.

Everything was the same, and it all felt wrong .

Ron still wondered about Draco, because he never did get his answers. Not about Lucius Malfoy. Not about Draco's strange disappearances. And most certainly not about Draco's sudden attachment to Hermione Granger.

They were supposed to be best friends, but Ron felt distant from him — like for the first time, their differences mattered.

Ron, a poor boy from a family of blood traitors, perhaps would never understand Draco, a wealthy, well-groomed aristocrat who came from a century of Slytherins. It should not have surprised Ron. He alway knew it, deep down. Yet, for two years he had been disillusioned into thinking where he came from didn't matter. Not really, anyway. Not aside from the silly jokes and the edge his brothers had on him during Quidditch games.

But Draco held his secrets close, and Ron suspected he might not have if he were any other Slytherin — a Slytherin more like Draco, one who came from a long line of Slytherins before him and lived in a mansion and had a family with connections to the Ministry outside of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.

Ron wanted to trust his friend.

He really did.

Yet, as he sat by him in the library, day after day, he could not help but wonder what he was hiding — and why.

Between his questions about Draco and his bone-chilling fear of Sirius Black, the library was actually the only place he felt safe aside from classrooms and the Quidditch pitch. In fact, Ron avoided all outings until the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game, and even then, he only went because Draco urged him to.

It was mostly a boring game, with Potter losing every play to the Ravenclaw Seeker, a girl named Cho Chang who seemed to best him at every turn, no matter how obvious her next move was. Wood spent a lot of time shouting at Potter, and rightfully so.

Then, the game got interesting.

After Chang nearly caught the Snitch for the sixth time, the Dementors came.

They had settled in the stands, their tattered cloaks billowing in the wind as they swayed back and forth, reaching out towards the pitch with black fingers and the clear intention of what Lupin had called the Dementor's kiss. It was the horrible act that sucked away the happiness from their victims, the act that Ron had nearly felt on the train.

But something was odd about them.

They weren't flying.

And they were not far from Ron at all, but he felt just fine.

Just as Ron was starting to understand that this was all some sort of elaborate prank, Potter swooped towards the stands and cast a spell he did not recognize.

A blue stag sprung forth from Potter's wand, a distraction for Chang, as she parked midair, her jaw agape.

It was enough time for Potter to catch the Snitch and end the game.

As everyone marched towards the school, the Dementors pulled off their hoods, revealing themselves to be Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint. McGonagall caught them, of course, revoking twenty house points from each of them.

"Can't believe he won even with the distraction," Crabbe groused. " And we're down sixty points."

"Told you we shouldn't have done it," Goyle said. "He was dragon-shit before we distracted Chang. She probably would've won the whole thing."

"Yeah, and then we'd have to play Ravenclaw," Flint pointed out. "I'd rather play Wood than Page. Never seen Page miss a block before."

"We're going to lose the House Cup though!" Goyle argued. "We're behind Hufflepuff now. Hufflepuff! "

Ron was hardly paying them any attention. As much as he loved Quidditch, and as much as he wanted to win the Cup, his mind was far too wrapped up in Black and Draco's secrets. His brain hardly had room for other thoughts anymore — even if they did involve Potter.

He leaned in towards Draco.

"Did you know they were going to do that?" he asked.

Draco shrugged. "Thought it might cheer you up. They wanted us to join in but I figured if we got in trouble, you'd probably just sulk about more. Not to say I want detention any more than you do."

Ron wanted to stay angry with his friend.

He wanted to ask him about his secrets, about his father and about Granger — but he couldn't.

Draco cared about his feelings, and for whatever reason, that made him feel warm inside, no matter how temporary.


Ron wished that Ravenclaw had won that match, because when Slytherin finally faced Gryffindor in the finals, he botched it.

He fouled every other play, and he wasn't the only one. Draco kept glancing at him, his brows drawn together, distracted from the Snitch due to Ron's sudden inability to hit a single Bludger.

They lost by a longshot. In fact, according to Seamus Finnigan, it was the worst score in a finals match in nearly eighty years.

Potter gloated all the way back to the castle.


For as poorly as Ron performed in Quidditch, he made up for it in his final exams. He was third in his class behind Draco and Granger in the majority of them, receiving all "Outstanding" and "Exceeds Expectations" marks in Charms, Transfiguration, Divination, and Potions. He had Draco to thank, despite his supicions.

Together, they had been studying for months.

Of course, Potter bested everyone in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Draco had a hunch that the Scarhead had been receiving some kind of private lessons, and Ron was inclined to agree. That spell he pulled at the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game was apparently very advanced magic called a Patronus Charm, and Lupin definitely never taught it in class.

Ron decided not to dwell on it. He had done better than Potter in almost every other course, except Care of Magical Creatures. That one, he chalked up to sheer favoritism. The Head Gryffindork had managed to kill three flobberworms. Three!

At least Draco outscored him. Ron thought that would be enough to please his friend, but grimly, he discovered that it wasn't.

"I can't believe she — there's no way!" Draco shouted, referencing Granger pulling the lead in everything but Potions. "And in Arithmancy too —"

Ron frowned. "I still don't know how you two were taking Arith —"

"My father's going to be furious," Draco interrupted.

The school-year was virtually over, and Ron still had nearly no answers to his many questions. He wondered if he would ever learn the truth. He feared that he probably wouldn't.


The professors never did find Black — or Scabbers.

The end of the term was punctuated by Potter letting out all the hippogriffs and Ravenclaw winning the House Cup after he fessed up to it. As pleased as Ron was that the Gryffindorks lost, he missed his rat, and he still felt like Hermione Granger played some part in the entire thing.

Strangely, Draco disagreed.

"She didn't do it," he muttered as Ron packed his things. "I don't like her either but if I know one thing about Granger, it's that she's pretty serious about rules."

"Speaking of that," Ron dared, "how do you know her so well?"

"We had the same classes. Snape and McGonagall had us going to them together."

"Why? So she could babysit you?"

Draco scowled. "No, so we could —" He stopped and shook his head. "Never mind. But she didn't have anything to do with Black. Potter, maybe, but Granger, no."

Ron wasn't convinced, but he nodded.

"Think your parents will let you come over this summer?" Draco asked, tugging his trunk out of the common room.

"Maybe," Ron lied, following him out.

Without Scabbers, he would spend his summer with no friends at all. Not a single one.