"He's just a boy!" Ron's father exclaimed over breakfast, his cheeks red as tomatoes. He pulled a serving platter towards him and skewered a sausage. "Ron's age! And they're having a whole ruddy trial like he's some kind of career criminal!"
Ron's mother frowned at her husband, a napkin hanging limply from her fingers, though there was not a single bite of food on her plate. For weeks, she had been on a special diet she found in some ancient book titled The Witchy Wife — the same book she had been entrenched in all summer.
Apples and cheese seemed to be the only things she ate.
As time passed on, Ron noticed she had grown slower, less cognizant of everything around her. He watched her from his spot at the table, keenly aware of the sedated manner in which her clouded eyes traveled towards his father.
"That does seem a little excessive . . ." she said unsurely.
"Oh, it most certainly is! Terribly excessive." Fat oozed from the porky sausage as Ron's father cut into it. "Never in my life have I heard of the Wizengamot getting involved in a case of underage magic — it's positively absurd!"
"Ministry's out to get him," Fred quipped.
"It's just 'cause of who he is," added George.
"And what he saw," finished Fred.
Ron's mother glared at them. "I told you two not to talk about that!" She dropped the napkin and seized a piece of toast, seemingly forgetting about her diet. Ron slid the cherry jam towards her, which she accepted without pause. "The Ministry has taken a firm stance against Harry Potter and we do not want to be caught between them and him . . ." She met Ron's father's gaze, mid-slather. "Even if what he's dealing with is quite unfair."
Ginny straightened her spine the way she always did when she was about to start an argument. When they were younger, Ron might have elbowed her — a brotherly reminder that quarreling with their mother was never worth it in the end — but Ginny was fourteen now, and over the years, Ron learned there was no stopping a stubborn Gryffindor.
Her silverware clattered to her plate as she looked their mother dead in the eyes.
"So even when the Ministry's wrong, we're supposed to just sit back and pretend it's okay?"
Ron's mother, dumbstruck by Ginny's defiance, whispered, "I expect all of you to do whatever it takes to stay safe. The Ministry —"
"Is trying to turn the entire Wizarding world against a teenager! He's barely older than me and they want to put him in Azkaban!" She gestured Ron. "What if it was Ron, hm? Would you feel the same way if they were trying to lock him up?"
"That is obviously different —"
"How?" Ginny demanded. "They're the same age. What makes Ron any different from Harry?"
Ron's mother stared at her daughter in disbelief. "Your brother is my son. Harry Potter is not."
"Yeah, well, Harry's parents can't exactly fight for him anymore, can they?"
Everyone went silent.
Ron's father was transfixed on Ginny, as though she had said something incredibly profound. His mother's lips had curved downward. Fred and George had busied themselves with their plates.
Ron, on the other hand, was not as impressed.
"What if the Ministry's right about him, though?" he dared to ask, mouth full of toast. "He is the only one that saw Diggory die."
"You don't actually think he killed him?" Ginny challenged. Derision clung to her every word.
"No, but he saw how it happened, didn' he?"
"And he told the Ministry what he saw and they didn't believe him!"
Ron snorted. "Oh, right. Good old You-Know-Who's back from the dead, first thing he does is murder some barely-of-age Hufflepuff for figuring out a maize maze. Makes perfect sense."
"Ronald," Ron's father warned. "Don't patronize your sister."
"But she can patronize Mum? Hardly seems fair," Ron pointed out. He caught a slight smile flash across his mother's lips. "Besides, she's being a hypocrite, really. Hogwarts gets up to nasty business all the time but it's in the Gryffindors' favor so she turns a blind eye."
"Excuse me?" Ginny asked hotly. "What nasty business do I turn a blind eye to?"
"Oh, you know, Potter getting eleven hundred points for wiping his nose . . . Potter being allowed to play Quidditch as a first-year . . . Granger getting all kinds of privileges for being an annoying swot . . . The whole messing with the Goblet of Fire thing . . . All I'm saying is if my house is expected to put up with all that , you shouldn't be allowed to fuss at everyone over breakfast just because he's got himself in trouble with the Ministry now."
"That's quite —" Ron's father said, but Ginny cut him off.
"Harry gets those points for good deeds , something you obviously wouldn't know anything about! And even if he didn't, are you seriously saying wrongfully awarded house points are as bad as being sent to Azkaban for no reason?"
"No, but it's not really for no reason, is it? He knows something about a murder and he's lying about it." Ron bit into his toast and shrugged. "Seems like he ought to tell them the truth."
"And what if he is telling the truth?" Ginny pressed. Her jaw was set, her fork and knife tight in her grip. "What if You-Know-Who is really back and we're all pretending he's not?"
"Ginny," Ron's mother warned.
"Not talking about him won't do us any good if he's actually returned. Look, I don't even like Harry all that much, but —"
Ron nearly choked on his toast. " Don't even like him? That's rich."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Ginny shot back at him, her eyes as fiery as her vibrant red locks.
"I've seen the way all you Gryffindork girls look at him. Ooh, Harry, you're so handsome. Ooh, Harry, let me have your babies —"
"That's enough," Ron's father said sternly. He then turned to Ginny, his expression grave. "Ginny, you know I don't agree with all of this, and if it were in my power —"
"But it is , isn't it? You work for the Ministry! You could say something! You could make them listen to you!"
"It doesn't quite work like that," a voice drawled.
Ron glanced up at the kitchen entryway, fighting off a smirk as he saw his brother, Percy, standing there. While Ron and his older brother had not always gotten along, he did rather enjoy watching him poke at the rest of the family when it came to their now-regular disagreements about Harry Potter.
"Only because nobody's been brave enough to say anything," Ginny snapped. "And I'm talking about Dad, not you . We all know you'll do whatever they ask you to do." Her eyes flicked to Ron and then back to Percy. "Maybe you're the one that should've been in Slytherin."
"Ginny!" their mother scolded.
Their father sighed and rubbed his temples. "We can't stop his trial, Ginny. I'm sorry for it, but there's nothing to be done. If the Ministry thinks we're working with the Ord —" A loud thud was heard from underneath the table. He grimaced. " If they think we're on Harry Potter's side, we could all be in trouble. Me, your mother, Bill and Charlie —"
"Me," Percy added, pulling out a chair. He cleared his throat and seated himself. "On that note, I do encourage you all to entertain the idea that Mr. Potter is lying. He's troubled. During my time as a prefect of his house, I found him to be . . . quite the rule-breaker. "
"Breaking rules at school doesn't make him a bloody criminal, you twat!" Ginny shouted, scrambling to stand up. She looked as though she were going to attack him, and if Ron knew his sister, there was a good chance she was planning on it.
"Ginevra Molly Weasley!" Ron's mother hissed. "Sit down ! And watch your language!"
Fred and George exchanged looks. Ron's father sighed into his goblet. Ginny dropped into her seat, her eyebrows knit together with rage.
Mornings at the Burrow had been ugly all summer, and with news of Potter's trial, Ron suspected they would only get worse.
In the days that led up to the hearing, Ginny had taken to slamming doors, drawers, pots, and pans as often as she could. Ron learned to avoid her completely after a simple "g'morning" went sour.
"Five seconds in the same room as her and she's screaming like an actual banshee! Nearly blacked my eye for telling her good morning," he complained to the twins, who were huddled on the floor of their bedroom. They were trying to perfect a new confection they called a Broken Bone Bonbon, and had even asked Ron to be their test subject. After hearing the name of the product, he refused.
"Fred, can you hand me that chocolate bar there?" George asked.
"Sure thing, George."
"Are you two even listening to me?" Ron asked, annoyed. "We've got to do something about her! It's not right how she's scared us off half the house."
"And what d'you propose we do, ickle Ronniekins?" George inquired, dropping the chocolate bar into the tiny, sizzling cauldron. "Teach her all about the political motivations of the Hogwarts faculty?"
"Should do the trick, I think," Fred quipped. "Certainly worked last week."
Ron scowled. "I'm serious! She's had plenty of time to get over it. We should be able to walk into the kitchen without worrying she might hex us!"
"Gin's always held grudges, mate, you know that. Besides, she's got good reason to be angry with you ." Fred's tongue poked out as he added a hair to the smoking elixir. "Don't know what she's fussed at us for, though. Went to the toilet and she threatened to beat me with her shoe."
"I'd threaten to beat you with a shoe too if I had to use the toilet after you did," said George. "Should we add the bat nose, d'you think? Bit worried it might —"
"Make it taste like goat piss?" Fred finished with a nod. "Think we ought to avoid the goat piss flavoring if we can manage it."
Ron raised a skeptical brow. "You know Filch is gonna nick it after your first sale whether it tastes like goat piss or not."
"Not if we're careful," George replied, pointing at Ron as though he had a plan he was very unlikely to have.
Ron laughed half-heartedly.
For the rest of the afternoon, the twins kept brewing the bizarre mixture of chocolate and hair. Despite their fraternal jabs, Ron resigned himself to staying in their room with them for the rest of the day, because at least there, he wouldn't fall victim to the worst of Ginny's ire. Still, he knew he didn't fit in. The twins spoke in their own language, including him not because they wanted to, but because he was simply there .
Sometimes, the Burrow felt lonely, even amidst the noise.
Ron wondered if Malfoy Manor felt lonely too.
With its dozens of empty rooms and bustling house-elves, it had to feel busy — just like the Burrow did. But was it cozy like their dungeon dormitory? Did Draco laugh with his parents over meals? Or were his suppers silent, filled only with the sounds of clattering silverware?
Ron wondered about all of these things, but most of all, he wondered if Draco missed him.
He certainly missed Draco, especially when he was sequestered to the floor with his brothers who only tolerated him because they had to. If he were back at Hogwarts, he and his friend would make jokes and talk about Quidditch. They would share a laugh at Potter's expense — something about Dementors, surely.
He couldn't wait to return to Hogwarts — where he could join his friend in the Slytherin common room, right where he belonged.
Where they belonged.
The day of Potter's hearing, Ginny pulled a chair next to the fireplace. There, she informed everyone she would be impatiently waiting for their father to return home with the verdict, and she wouldn't move a muscle until he did. For the first time in his life, Ron was glad to be de-gnoming the garden with the twins.
"Oi, Fred! Check this one out! It's got a tumor!" George exclaimed, dangling a swearing gnome by its trousers.
"Right on its chin too, that's unfortunate," Fred replied grimly. He chucked a much smaller gnome across the lawn just as a flash of brilliant green poured out from the sitting room window. "Think Dad's home. Should we go in and see what happened?"
"Let's wait to see if we hear screaming."
"Good thinking, George."
Anxious, Ron pulled a flailing gnome out of the tiger lilies and waited for his sister's reaction.
They heard no screaming.
"Think the coast's clear," Fred decided. "Potter must've caught a break."
"Must have," George agreed.
Ron wasn't sure if he was happy about the ruling or not — but he was certainly glad Ginny wouldn't have a reason to complain anymore. The remaining weeks of summer would be livable, and then, he could return to Hogwarts, where the only time he had to see her was on the Quidditch pitch and in the Great Hall.
The soft breeze of autumn crept into the air, casting the shadow of September upon the Burrow. Between shopping for school supplies and packing his trunk for the term, Ron found that the final days of summer had practically vanished, and before he knew it, his mother was rushing him and his siblings to King's Cross Station.
The place was bustling as usual, teeming with hurried Muggles and Wizarding families alike. The latter raced through the column leading to Platform 9¾, somehow unnoticed by the rest.
One by one, the five Weasleys sprinted onto the platform too.
The Hogwarts Express sang as it idled, and Ron grinned at its telltale tune. Smoke was billowing from the chimney, grey and stark against the crimson cars that were quickly filling with his fellow students, beckoning him, eager to carry him back to the castle he called home.
He and Draco would be reunited at last.
"Are you coming or what?" he heard Ginny sneer.
Shaking off his nostalgic reverie, he blinked and saw that she and the twins were halfway to the train. He cleared his throat and followed them, dragging his trunk close behind.
Once boarded, they all went their separate ways.
Ginny seated herself with a rather bizarre girl from Ravenclaw, the twins slipped into a compartment with Lee Jordan, and Ron stopped by the door of he and his friend's usual cabin.
Yet, when he stepped inside, Draco was nowhere to be found.
"Hey Weasley," Crabbe greeted him, a wide grin on his face. He looked Ron up and down. "Damn, you got tall."
"Yeah, grew a bit. Where's Draco?"
"He's a prefect," Theodore Nott drawled boredly. "They have their own compartment."
While this was news to Ron, he was not exactly surprised. Draco was bright and well-connected — a perfect candidate for the job.
Still, he wished his friend thought to owl him after finding out.
"Oh, all right then," Ron replied, trying his best not to sound disappointed.
Stung, he settled beside Goyle, glancing at the interior window each time someone passed, half-expecting a shock of blond to turn up at any moment.
But as time trudged on, fewer and fewer students walked the aisle, and eventually, the train lurched forward.
It was strange, heading to Hogwarts without Draco. Ron looked around the cabin, wondering what exactly he was supposed to talk to Blaise and Theo about for several hours, let alone Crabbe and Goyle.
"So — erm — how were your summers?" he said lamely.
Nott rolled his eyes. Blaise smirked. Crabbe and Goyle gave him the same dumb looks they always did, though he could have sworn they looked even dumber than usual. Their holiday growth spurts hadn't done them any favors, apparently.
"Mine was good," Blaise answered. "Very . . . fulfilling. How about yours, Weasley?"
"Mine was fine. Glad to be away from the family, though."
"Ah yes, the illustrious Gryffindorks," Blaise mused. "Personally, I didn't find the holiday to be nearly long enough. It'll be much harder to see my little Beauxbatons bird now that school's in."
Ron drew his brows together. "Beauxbatons bird? You mean to tell me you've been seeing a French girl?"
"Belgian, actually," Blaise replied, examining his nails. "But of course, I don't kiss and tell."
"You kissed her?"
Nott scoffed. "You know, Blaise, by saying you don't kiss and tell, you've kissed and told. That was your intention, of course, but out of respect for your lady friend, I recommend you don't mention this to anyone outside of this cabin."
Blaise glanced at Nott through narrowed eyes.
"Fine. What about you, then, Nott? Any . . . conquests this summer?"
"Conquests," Nott repeated. He snorted and looked back down at his book. "What a word for it."
Ron cleared his throat as he turned towards Crabbe and Goyle, hoping to diffuse the tension. "What about you lot? How were your summer holidays?"
Crabbe wiped his nose. "Snogged Millie, went to Wales."
"You kissed her once ," Goyle argued. "That's not snogging ."
"Is too!"
"Is not!"
"She stuck her tongue in my mouth, mate, that's a snog."
"That's not what you told me before!"
Ron cradled his head in his hands. If he thought he missed Draco before, it was even clearer now that he was locked in a compartment with the other Slytherins.
At least it was better than the Burrow — even if barely.
Eager for the start-of-term feast, Ron marched towards the entrance hall. Crabbe and Goyle trudged behind him, rambling on about their classmates, though Ron was ignoring the details as much as he could. The two boys were almost tolerable when Draco was around to bark insults at them, but without him, their stupidity was in full force.
". . . but at least she's got a pert little arse, eh?" Goyle said.
"Suppose she does, yeah," Crabbe agreed. "Wouldn't be so bad with a bag over her head."
"As if you two have any room to talk about looks," a familiar, snooty voice chided. "And if I catch either of you talking like that again, I'll dock points."
Ron turned around, wondering if he had misheard the voice. He hadn't.
Pansy Parkinson stood there, a prefect badge pinned to her robes.
"You won't take points from Slytherin," Goyle challenged.
"You really think I wouldn't? I'd shave my own head if it meant I didn't have to hear you two idiots prattling on about 'pert' arses!"
"The real crime here is Goyle pretending he's seen a pert arse," Nott drawled, just as he caught up to the group.
Ron ignored his comment, as funny as it was, and regarded Pansy. "Is Draco coming?"
"Do I look like his babysitter? I don't know if he's coming, and frankly, I don't care."
With that, she stormed towards the castle, leaving Ron dumbfounded.
"I only meant because she was in the prefects' cabin with him," he muttered to the others. "No wonder she's so sensitive about all the arse talk. She's got a broomstick up hers."
Crabbe snickered. "Good one, Weasley."
Nott, however, raised a brow. "I mean, what'd you think she'd say? You can't expect her to be the biggest Malfoy fan right now."
"Why? Don't tell me they're still fighting. It's been all bloody summer!" groused Ron.
Nott only seemed more confused. "Did you not hear?"
"Hear what ?"
"Pansy's father broke off their betrothal, mate" Nott said gravely. "They're not together anymore."
Ron sat down, his hand planted firmly on the seat beside him so nobody would take it. When Draco strolled in at last, he accepted the spot, Theodore Nott on his other side.
"What took you so long?" Ron asked.
"Professor Snape was explaining expectations to Pansy and myself," Draco replied, gesturing his badge. "As we're prefects now."
Ron's annoyance resurged. "Yeah, Nott told me. Why didn't you owl me when you found out? Was chuffed for you when he mentioned it — really well-deserved and all but — well, you'd think you would've told your best mate . . ."
"Sorry. My father didn't want me sending owls that could've been intercepted by anyone in the Ministry . . . Considering your brother and father — ow! What the hell was that for?"
He had turned to Nott, who looked positively furious.
Draco cleared his throat. "He thought it might look like favoritism. Dumbledore trying to appease the Ministry by placing me in a position of power. Believe me, I wanted to tell you."
Ron had a feeling that Draco was lying again, but he nodded nonetheless.
"Makes sense," he lied. "I'm just glad you got it, mate. No one better for it."
As he clapped his friend on the back, Pansy entered the Great Hall.
Her eyes landed on Draco and she scoffed, scanning the table immediately thereafter. She frowned.
"Tracey!" she hissed, treading towards the other girl with purpose. "Daph!"
Tracey and Daphne, who were seated across from Draco and Nott, waved at her and continued chattering to one another, occasionally letting out giggles and glancing at Zabini.
"Tracey!" Pansy hissed again.
"Oh, sorry, Pansy," Tracey replied lightly. She scooted over a little. "Here, sit."
Pansy glanced at the spot and then at Draco. With a scowl, she stomped away, opting to sit with a group of sixth-years instead.
Ron elbowed Draco and gestured Tracey and Daphne, who were now grinning at Zabini, hoping to draw attention away from Pansy's dramatic entrance. Lowering his voice, he leaned in and whispered, "Reckon one of them fancies him?"
"What — ?" Draco said distractedly. He hardly spared the girls a fleeting glance as Ron's words finally sunk in. "Oh, yeah, probably so."
Ron frowned. "You all right, mate?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
Yet, he didn't seem fine. Like most wealthy pure-bloods, Draco had exceptional table manners, but his dainty movements seemed stiffer than usual — uncomfortable.
Ron decided not to question it. Instead he turned to Nott and said, "You see the Defense teacher? Ministry worker."
Nott lifted an eyebrow. "Is she?"
"Sure is," Ron said, feeling a bit triumphant as he cut into his roast beef. It wasn't often he knew something Nott didn't. "Umbridge. Works with the Minister. My dad said she was at Potter's trial."
"At Potter's trial, eh?" Nott suddenly seemed much more interested. He glanced at Draco. "Were you aware she'd be here, Draco?"
"Of course I was," Draco muttered, buttering a dinner roll.
"And you didn't say anything? Don't you think that's the kind of thing I ought to know considering . . ." His eyes flicked to Ron and he paused. "Well, you know. "
Draco shrugged. "Don't think she'll be in your way, Nott. What? Think you can't do it?"
"Are you kidding me? She's in the Ministry !"
Whatever their argument was about, it ended there, as Dumbledore approached the lectern. The first-years watched in wonderment as he grinned down at them, those eyes twinkling mischiveously as they always did.
"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices . . ."
Ron tuned him out after that.
The speech went on, filled with mentions of Filch and something about not performing magic in the corridors. Ron sucked down more pumpkin juice, only to choke on it when Draco elbowed him.
"Did you hear that?" the other boy said excitedly. "He's gone . The oaf is gone ."
Furrowing his brow, Ron looked back up at the staff table. The half-giant oftentimes wasn't present so he had not thought much of it. This time, however, he wasn't just missing — he had a replacement . Dumbledore was gesturing to a woman with a tall hat and a scarred face, who waved and smiled. Perhaps she had been hard to notice compared to the bright pink robes Umbridge was sporting.
". . . we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Everyone gave their usual bored clap.
"Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the —"
"Hem, hem."
Dumbledore seemed confused where the sound had come from. The entire student body, however, knew who had made the noise. They were all staring at Umbridge, who had stood up, and was approaching the podium.
"Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome."
Ron and Draco exchanged looks, just as bewildered by the toad-faced woman as Dumbledore seemed to be.
"Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" she said, clasping her hands together as she approached the lectern. Dumbledore stepped away to let her speak, though not without reluctance. "And to see such happy faces looking back at me!"
Ron tried to find a single happy face in the crowd, yet he couldn't. Everyone looked bored — even the first-years.
By the end of her speech, the room only applauded because Dumbledore did.
Theodore Nott looked terribly uncomfortable.
Classes moved forward as expected. Potter botched his Draught of Peace, much to Ron and Draco's glee; Herbology was an easy first week, considering they spent both days reviewing what they needed to learn for their their Ordinary Wizarding Examinations; Care of Magical Creatures was not so bad with the new teacher, Professor Grubbly-Plank, and Defense Against the Dark Arts with Umbridge was set to be a breeze. Ron had been nervous about returning to Hogwarts after the Triwizard Tournament, but so far, his fifth year was turning out to be his best yet.
"She doesn't even expect us to cast," Ron gushed to Ernie Macmillan and Draco after his second Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. "And she put Parkinson in her place."
Ernie snorted. "What'd Parkinson think about that?"
Draco was strangely quiet.
"Was put out about it, of course," answered Ron. "But she deserved it! Interrupted the lesson to dock points from her own house. Nasty chit."
Draco stopped and glowered at him. "Don't call her that."
Ron blinked, confused. From what Nott said, Pansy's father was the one to end the betrothal, which had to mean Pansy was responsible. Decisions like that were not made lightly.
"But I — didn't she break it off with you, mate?"
"You don't know the whole story," Draco growled. He shook his head. "I'm going to the library."
"I can come along if you —"
"No thanks."
Draco spun and headed in the other direction, leaving Ron agog.
"That was weird, right?" he asked. "I mean — if a girl broke up with you , you wouldn't get your bollocks twisted over someone calling her a chit, would you?"
Ernie simply shrugged. "Dunno, mate. Maybe he still fancies her."
Flames flickered in the common room fireplace. It was still daylight, with the green glow of the lake cutting through the windows and the sharp scent of smuggled-in Firewhisky filling the room. Ron watched idly as Crabbe and Goyle passed the drink back and forth.
Goyle sucked down some more of the harsh spirit, grimacing all the while.
"If it's that bad, why drink it?" Pansy spat.
"It — it isn't bad ," Goyle fibbed. "Just st-strong."
Several younger students were watching him and Crabbe too, some of them in awe, others with concern, and a handful of them audacious enough to reach for the bottle.
"None for first-years!" Goyle barked at a boy as he handed it back to Crabbe.
The boy looked much older than eleven, and he confirmed this when he said, "I'm a fourth -year. We have Transfiguration together, for God's sake!"
Ron snickered. Goyle being held back in two classes was a bit of a joke between him, Draco, Nott, and Blaise. Crabbe, on the other hand did not find it so funny, because he'd been held back in three.
"Well, you're still not getting any," Goyle grunted.
"Neither are you, according to Tracey Davis," the fourth-year muttered.
Ron and Pansy both cackled at the same time. It was a deep, roaring belly laugh that made his sides hurt, but he couldn't stop, and neither could she. Jokes at Crabbe and Goyle's expense were a bit of a tradition in their year, and he was happy to see the fourthies were keeping up with it.
Then, suddenly, his laugh was interrupted by a loud noise and talons digging into his scalp.
"Ow!" he shouted, flailing at the bird.
The owl hopped off of his head and landed on the arm of the sofa beside him. It looked up at him eagerly, an envelope tied to its leg.
"Hermes?" Ron said with a frown, recognizing Percy's pet at once. "What're you doing here?"
"By the looks of it, he probably has a message for you," Pansy said in between her final titters. "You know, as owls tend to?"
"Gathered that much myself, thanks," Ron muttered, untying the envelope from the owl's leg.
Crabbe and Goyle kept passing the bottle back and forth, distracting everyone in the room except for Ron and Pansy. She peered over his shoulder, snooping as she always did, while he unfolded the letter.
To my dear brother Ron,
I am pleased to know that you have had the sense to make good friends at Hogwarts. It came to my attention that your friend, Draco Malfoy, is a prefect, and will continue to be a good influence on you. Our family has never been very kind to you about your association with the Malfoy family, and I wanted to apologize for any behavior from myself that may have fallen in line with their misguided perceptions.
The Malfoys are clearly a fine family, and you have done well for yourself in Slytherin House associating yourself with not only Draco, but with his mother and father as well. It was wrong of our family, myself included, to take issue with your Sorting.
The rest of our family will continue pretending it does not bother them, but I felt I owed it to you to tell you that I am proud of you and I think you've made better choices than most of our siblings . . . or our parents, for that matter.
This year will be a difficult one, considering the claims of Harry Potter and everything that happened at the Triwizard Tournament last year. I implore you hold your friends close, most especially Draco Malfoy, and avoid Potter as much as possible. I'm aware that Dolores Umbridge is teaching at the school this year. If you are able to get to know her, it would be a wise choice. She will provide leadership while others in the school may be inclined to cater to Potter and his followers.
I fear Ginny, Fred, and George may continue to believe Potter. While I have sent them letters in hopes of changing their minds, I do not expect them to listen. As much as this concerns me, I have to look out for my loved ones that I know can still make the right choices, and in this case, that is you.
Take care of yourself, Ronald. Continue to build friendships with good people like Draco Malfoy. If you hear that Potter is doing anything unsavory, I do encourage you to tell Dolores Umbridge. She will be on your side, and she may even reward you for providing critical information to the Ministry of Magic.
I would not be surprised if you are here by my side working for the Minister in a few years. You could really lock down a stable career if you were to make friends with Dolores.
That said, I have paperwork to attend to, so I suppose I must end this letter here. It pleases me to know you have been well, brother. Do write soon.
Sincerely,
Percy Weasley
Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic
Ron stared at the letter, astounded, and uncertain what to think.
In the background, Crabbe and Goyle were playing some kind of drinking game, the younger students egging them both on. Yet, they sounded far away.
Pansy, who had been reading over his shoulder, had her eyebrow arched. She was the only person in the world besides him and Percy that knew someone in his family was proud of him. Ron wasn't sure how he felt about that.
It seemed like they were the only two in the room.
"He thinks the Malfoys are good people?" she finally sneered, pulling him out of his daze. "Clearly, he's delusional."
"Draco is a good person," Ron snapped defensively.
The small bond they'd formed over the letter had been broken, ruined by her disdainful words.
"Yeah, real good, making fun of first-years, breaking into empty classrooms, dating me for ages only to screw up our betrothal." She crossed her arms. "He only made prefect because his father's a school governor."
" He didn't screw up your betrothal!" Ron shouted at her, earning several gasps and glances from the younger students. "It was you being an ugly, dog-faced slag that bollocksed it up!"
Pansy's mouth fell open.
For a moment, he thought she was going to shout at him, to screech "How dare you!" as she so often did.
But she didn't.
Instead, tears fell down her cheeks and she raced towards the girls' dormitory.
Two younger girls shot him dark looks and chased after her.
Ron had no idea why the words slipped out of his mouth, and strangest of all, he actually felt quite horrible for saying them.
Pansy avoided Ron in the days that followed. She would spin on her heel and rush in the opposite direction if she was about to run into him, and while Draco thought this was because of him, Ron knew better.
Still, Ron hadn't told his friend about his exchange with Pansy. He wasn't sure if he ever would.
"Did you see the Prophet ?" Draco asked one day, his legs crossed as he leaned back on one of the common room sofas. "Umbridge was named High Inquisitor."
"What's that?"
Draco shrugged. "Some new position at the Ministry. Imagine we'll be seeing things change around here."
Ron wondered what changes would ensue. He didn't have much time to mull it over, though, because Theodore Nott raced into the room, panting heavily and eyes darting in all directions. When they settled on Draco, he sucked in a deep breath.
"Malfoy," he wheezed. "It's Potter. He's seen the news. Lashed out at Umbridge over it during class."
Draco bristled, though Ron couldn't understand why he cared what Potter thought of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Obviously the Scarhead would hate her after his trial. It didn't really make a difference.
"And?" Draco said, his voice controlled.
But Ron saw past the façade. Draco was struggling to keep his composure, and that was a rarity. Ron just could not place why.
"He's going to be in detention," Nott said. "I need to — it would be a good time — I need to contact . . ." He glanced at Ron. "My father."
"I think that would be wise," Draco said with a nod. "Do you know the exact time of his detention?"
Nott nodded back, a dark look in his eyes.
"I really don't know how you like her. She canceled bloody Quidditch, for Merlin's sake!" Ginny kicked a rock halfway across the trail leading to the greenhouses. "I mean, can she even do that?"
"She canceled Quidditch?" Ron asked, appalled. "Since when?"
It wasn't often that he was alone with his sister, but that day, they happened to be heading to Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology at the same time, him without Draco as he was busy docking points from some first-years, and Ginny without her own friends. As awkward siblings did, they fell into step together, Ginny revealing she had detention that evening for shouting at a teacher and Ron challenging her, asking what she had done. The teacher just so happened to be Umbridge — the same professor Percy advised he grow close to.
"Did you even read her stupid decree thing?"
" What stupid decree thing?"
"She posted it up hours ago! People've been talking about it all day." Ginny shook her head. "Sometimes I swear you Slytherins all live under the same, giant bloody rock."
Ron was befuddled by the news. "How long til we get it back?"
"Quidditch? Probably never," she said derisively, stopping by Greenhouse Two. "Look, I usually wouldn't ask, but I know you want to play as much as I do. If you could . . . maybe see if Malfoy can pull some strings? I know his dad is a governor and . . . well, I don't think anything students say will matter at this point. But if it was a governor . . ." She sighed. "I mean, it'd help Malfoy too."
Ginny never asked Ron for anything, and under any other circumstances, he would have given her a vehement no, but this time she was right.
He did not want to go another year without playing Quidditch.
"Okay," he agree. "I'll talk to him."
Ginny beamed. "Thanks, Ron. The twins and myself will really appreciate it. Well, everyone will, really. Couldn't imagine another year without Quidditch."
"Me either. Don't worry about it, okay? Draco'll probably be able to do something."
"I imagine he will," Ginny said with a smile. "Must be nice, having all that power around here."
Ron barked a laugh. "According to him, it's bloody brilliant."
Quidditch practices were reinstated rather quickly.
Three days after Ron spoke to Draco, Umbridge suddenly announced that the sport would continue, and then promptly granted Slytherin House time to use the pitch.
"Crabbe and Goyle are absolute savages. Gryffindor doesn't stand a chance," Ron breathed to Montague.
He was actually rather glad he had been asked to move into a Chaser position that year.
For the first time, the two boys he found so dim had actually impressed him. Never had he seen more natural Beaters; they would put even Fred and George to shame.
The day of the match, they proved their worth.
Goyle bashed a Bludger at Potter, giving Draco the opportunity to zip by him and catch the Snitch. In the common room, everyone praised both Draco and Goyle for the stellar performance — except Pansy, of course.
The oaf was back.
What he had been gone doing was a mystery, but whatever it was, it left him cut and bruised almost beyond recognition. Ron wondered what could leave someone so big in such a terrible state. He could only think of a handful of creatures that could be responsible.
Apparently, the giant wasn't fazed by his injuries, as he led the class into the Forbidden Forest without a single complaint. Grubbly-Plank was nowhere to be seen, so they had no choice but to follow.
He was their professor again, even if almost nobody was happy about it. Even most of the Gryffindors seemed put out.
After nearly ten minutes of following centaur trails, they stopped in a clearing and he clapped his massive hands together.
"'Ere they are," he said.
There was nothing there.
Draco leaned towards Ron and whispered, "Whatever bloodied him up must've messed up that tiny brain of his too. He's lost his marbles!"
Granger spun around and angrily pressed a finger to her mouth.
"Shh!"
"I see a lot of yeh are confused," the oaf went on, paying Granger nor Draco any attention. He then raised his bushy eyebrows and studied the group. "But some of yeh can see 'em, can't yehs? Raise yer hand if yeh can."
When Nott raised a tentative hand, Ron frowned.
Potter raised his hand too — and Longbottom.
"No surprise with you two," Hagrid muttered, staring at Potter and Longbottom with his beady little eyes. "Sorry as I am to 'ear it." He then glanced at Nott briefly before clearing his throat to address the class. "These 'ere are thestrals. Only visible to anyone that's witnessed . . . somethin' . . . pret'y bad."
"Death. Only those that have seen somebody die can see thestrals, I've read all about them," Granger said. Her shoulders slouched sheepishly as she glanced at Potter and Longbottom. "Sorry."
"Aye," Hagrid confirmed. "Very good, 'ermione, very good . . . They're right fascinatin' creatures. We'll be studyin' 'em, but won't be real easy fer those of yeh that can't see 'em . . . So I suppose we'll be relyin' on these three . . . 'arry, if yeh wouldn' mind givin' that one there a pat . . ."
Potter took an anxious step forward and reached out to touch what seemed like nothing.
Ron was just pleased they weren't Blast-Ended Skrewts.
Christmastime came swiftly, and Ron was, surprisingly, quite pleased to be back at the Burrow. It was cozy, with red and green fairy lights sparkling around an extravagantly decorated tree that was so tall it brushed the ceiling. Garland was wrapped around the bannister and hanging over nearly every doorway, and then, of course, there were dozens of presents littering the floor of the sitting room.
Most notably, everyone had kept the arguments to a minimum — even Ginny.
After a scrumptious feast prepared by their mother, Ron and his siblings had settled near the fireplace, all wearing their Christmas jumpers, smiles plastered on their faces as Charlie told stories of Romania. Their father was sitting on the sofa, sipping from a bottle of Firewhisky that he had cracked open with Ron's oldest brother, Bill, listening just as curiously as they were.
It was almost as though Harry Potter didn't exist.
". . . and then the Chinese Fireball snapped at my fingers," Charlie went on. "Wasn't her fault, really . . . was covered in blood, forgot to wash after I fed the Horntails. Should've known — oh hi, Mum. You need any help clearing up?"
Ron turned to see his mother standing in the entryway, her mouth pressed into a firm line and her face drained of all color.
"No," she said thickly. She craned her neck. "So that's why you were set on 'Mortal Peril' two weeks ago, is it? One of those . . . those beasts nearly killed you?"
"It was nothing," Charlie reassured her. "Little snip, that was it. I promise."
Bill cleared his throat.
"So how's your work been, Dad?" he asked in an attempt to cut the tension.
Ron's father exhaled. The glare Percy shot at him was not lost on Ron.
"Difficult, to say the least," Ron's father said carefully. "A lot of expectations recently . . . Never cared about me before but suddenly they seem quite interested in all I do, it seems!"
"You reckon that's because of the You-Know-Who thing?" George asked.
Ron's mother was now much less interested in Charlie, turning to narrow her eyes at her other son. "George, I thought I told you not to discuss that."
"Personally, I'd like to hear Dad answer," Ginny said sourly. Her arms were crossed. "It's only fair, I think, after what we all saw last year."
Their father's eyes danced from his daughter to his wife, before he finally gave a nervous grin and gestured the tree. "Molly, you've really outdone yourself this year. More charms than usual, yes?"
Ron watched his mother intently as her face went red and she waved him off, uttering "Oh, it was nothing special . . . just a little something I learned from an old book . . ."
"We know you don't care about the tree, Dad," Ginny said angrily. "We're tired of you lying to us. We're tired of everyone lying to us. Aren't we, George?"
George shrugged. "I'm curious, I'll admit, but it's nothing new."
Perplexed, Ginny averted her attention to his twin. "Fred?"
Fred also shrugged. "I dunno, Gin. If Mum and Dad say it's best we don't know what's going on, it's probably best we don't. I don't really want the Ministry breathing down my neck, dunno about you."
"What is for the best," Percy quipped, twiddling with his wand, "is that you listen to the Ministry. Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter have chosen to lie to protect Potter. I know it's hard to accept someone you consider a friend —"
"He's barely a friend," Ginny cut in furiously. "I think he's a bit of a prat, actually, but I know he didn't kill anyone so I think it's fair to ask what's really going on!"
Percy got to his feet, balling his fists.
"And what I'm telling you is that he lied! He lied to all of us! And he'll keep doing so! That maze was enchanted to drive people mad. Potter wasn't himself. He killed Diggory. That's the truth." He adjusted his necktie. "Now, if you have any other questions, Ginevra, I encourage you to go to Dolores Umbridge, as I told you to do before."
With that, Percy stepped out of the sitting room, leaving everyone in silence.
Ginny looked at their father. "He can't actually believe that . . . You don't believe that, do you, Dad?"
Arthur Weasley swallowed hard and shook his head.
"No, Ginny. I don't believe that."
The next morning, the fairy lights were gone. The garlands had been removed, and the holly lining the mantlepiece had vanished. Ron expected the smell of bacon like his mother usually made on Boxing Day, but what he was met with was Percy and his mother in the sitting room, her sniffling into a tissue, while his father sat in the armchair opposite her, frowning grimly.
"Ronald," Percy said, waving him over. "Come."
Ron glanced from his mother to his father. His father nodded and Ron approached the sofa.
"Are — er — are you okay, Mum?" he asked, sitting down beside her.
She shook her head and blew her nose. Ron awkwardly patted her on the back and looked at his brother, wide-eyed, looking for answers.
"Bill and Charlie left this morning," he explained. Ron's mother howled. "They've erm — they've chosen the wrong side on this Potter issue, to put it simply. They asked her and Dad to do the same. I advised them to stick to the truth, of course."
"What d'you mean they took the wrong side?" Ron asked, alarmed.
"It means they're willing to go against the Ministry," Ron's father said gravely. "Ginny wanted to go with them but your mother stopped her."
Ron turned to his mother once more. She let out a horrible sob as he said, "Where is she now?"
"In her room," Ron's father replied. "The twins weren't awake yet, thank God. No matter how they felt yesterday, I suspect they'd change their minds if your older brothers suggested it to be a good idea . . ."
"Let it be clear that Bill and Charlie are making deadly mistake," Percy cut in. "Potter's dangerous, and while the Ministry is here to protect everyone from him while they build their case, there isn't much to be done if someone willingly walks into a room with him."
Ron's father wore an unreadable expression.
"You think Gin's gonna get involved with the Scarhead?" Ron asked Percy.
He let out a heavy sigh. "I fear, if she's not already, that she will be very soon. And what I fear more than that is what the Ministry will be forced to do to her if that happens."
"Oh!" Ron's mother cried into her tissue.
"We need you to keep an eye on her," Ron's father said quietly. "When you get back to Hogwarts, just make sure she stays out of trouble. Fred and George — well, I don't think we can depend on them much."
"But you , Ronald," Percy interjected, " you can help her. You can keep her safe. Set her on the right path. Report her to Dolores if you find she's doing anything . . . off-color. It's better she's caught breaking rules than getting entangled with Potter."
"You think he'd hurt her?" Ron asked, suddenly feeling quite anxious.
His mother continued to bawl, wordlessly cleansing her tissue before reusing it.
Percy ignored her. "Let's just say if she's spending time alone with him, I fear a Ministry inquiry would be the best thing that could happen to her."
Ron's father gave Percy a dark look before his eyes pinballed back to his wife. "I don't think Harry Potter is a danger to Ginny. What I know will be a danger to her is aligning with him, though, and now that Bill and Charlie have made that choice, I fear your sister will feel like she has an immense opportunity to do the same. They share a house, so they spend plenty of time holed up in that common room, I'm sure. It'll be up to you to make sure she doesn't let that lead her astray."
Ron glanced at Percy, who looked a bit annoyed, to his father, who looked scared.
His mother's cries cut through the air.
The return to Hogwarts was welcome after the final, awkward days at the Burrow. Once they were back, Ron found himself trying to tail Ginny in the corridors, which was proving much more difficult than he thought it would be. The twins had taken to a dark stairway where they sold their strange inventions, but it seemed like Ginny was in the hallways every hour of the day, even the more obscure ones where no classes were held.
She was up to something, and he had a feeling Bill and Charlie put her up to it.
"I'm telling you, mate, she's always wandering around the bloody school. I dunno what she thinks she's playing at but she's planning something."
"Sounds like her problem," Draco sniffed, sliding down the icy hill towards the oaf's hut.
" No , sounds like a me problem," Ron complained. "I'm her older brother. My mum and dad expect me to keep her in check and keep her safe . . . You're an only child, you wouldn't get it."
"Why is it your responsibility? The Idiot Twins are the ones in her house."
Ron trudged through the snow behind the other boy. "Yeah, but d'you really think they're going to watch after her?"
"Suppose not. Speaking of those two, did you hear they've got detention until the end of the year?"
"Til the end of year? What did they do ?" Ron asked, agog.
"Umbridge caught them selling those puking candies to first-years. Lost Gryffindor thirty points apiece."
That was when Ron had an excellent idea — one that would keep Ginny out of trouble for good. Beaming, he breathed, " That's it! You can catch her out of bed and give her detention! After a few rounds, she'll surely stop . . . I know she's been wandering around at night — I'm sure of it, really — so if you just —"
"Detention will only stop her if she cares she's got detention," Draco reminded him. "Given how much lip she's been giving Umbridge between classes, obviously she doesn't care if she gets any kind of consequence."
Ron groaned. Ginny was going to get herself into trouble, and he only hoped when she did, all she would get was some docked points or an evening in Umbridge's office.
But he feared it would be much, much worse.
As time went on, Ginny continued taking her nighttime strolls, though Ron still wasn't sure where they led. He confronted her three different times, each time ending the same way as the last.
"Of course you don't understand," she hissed once. "You're a Slytherin ."
"And you're an idiot!" he shot back. "It's not safe to get looped in with the Scarhead, Gin. I know you think you know everything because that's how you Gryffindors are but Percy said if you get involved with him —"
"This isn't just about Harry, Ron," she said through gritted teeth. "Maybe if you were in any other house, you'd get it."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means exactly what I said." She smirked. "Just know that it's not just Gryffindors on his side, anymore."
Ron didn't know what to say to her, so he let her go.
Later that evening, when he, Draco, and Goyle were in the common room, he ranted, "I don't care whether it's Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, or Filch's cat! It doesn't excuse her causing all this trouble. I mean, I know she's a moron, but she's my sister, y'know? I don't exactly want her to go to Azkaban."
"Yeah, awful place. My aunt's there," Draco replied, poking at the fire.
"Why?"
"Some stuff from the Wizarding War." Draco leaned back as the fire reignited. "My parents never told me the details but I guess she's gone a bit mad since she's been locked up there."
Ron frowned. He heard stories of the horrors of Azkaban, but he never knew anyone that had been there.
"Gone mad?" he asked.
"Not that she was the poster woman of sanity before or anything, but Azkaban's made her much worse. You don't want your sister to go there, Weasley. It wouldn't end well for her, even if they didn't issue the Dementor's Kiss."
Ron blanched. "Dementor's Kiss?"
"It's what they do to traitors, or who they perceive to be traitors, anyway." Draco shrugged. "Grim place, Azkaban. It's no tea party for full-fledged Dark wizards and witches, let alone a fourteen-year-old girl."
Picturing Ginny suffering the Dementor's Kiss was enough to make Ron want to vomit. Dementors sucked the joy from anyone that neared them, and that was when they weren't issuing the Kiss.
He could only imagine what it would be like if they were.
"I wish she'd just listen to me," he lamented.
"You could Imperius her or something," suggested Goyle.
"Yeah, just cast an Unforgivable on my own sister," Ron sneered. He shook his head. "No, I'll have to figure something else out. Something that'll scare her out of all of this supporting Potter nonsense."
But he had no idea what that something would be.
With Valentine's Day approaching, Ron noticed a number of new couples holding hands. For the most part, he paid them little attention, though he did wince when he noticed Ginny latched onto Michael Corner, a pig-nosed Ravenclaw he never quite cared for. He found he liked the prat even less when he was groping his sister.
Draco continued to go unattached, though, and that pleased Ron.
When Draco and Pansy were an item, they spent so much time arguing that Ron could barely spend time with the boy he considered his very best friend, and when Pansy did something to upset him, she became the only thing they talked about.
Since Pansy wasn't in the picture, Ron was actually able to spend more time with Draco. They were able to wander the corridors and talk about Quidditch and the school and current events. They didn't spend entire meals awkwardly dancing around her interjections. Even walking through the courtyard was enjoyable now that she avoided the both of them.
But he couldn't help but notice that, once in awhile, he would catch her watching them, and she would quickly turn away, looking distraught in a way he never thought he would witness in Pansy Parkinson.
He recalled the time she ran to her dormitory, tears in her eyes.
"Weasley!"
Ron jumped, feeling heat in his cheeks as he saw the annoyance in Draco's expression. The other boy had his Transfiguration textbook sprawled open on his lap; they were supposed to be studying.
"Did you hear me?" Draco asked irately.
"No, sorry. Was er — had a bit of a daydream there."
Draco eyed him and then glanced in the direction Ron had been looking — where Pansy Parkinson was goading Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. Draco then glared at Ron.
"Staring at Bones, were you? Didn't realize you still fancied her," he spat.
"Bones?" Ron echoed, appalled. "No, I wasn't staring at Bones . And I never fancied her."
"Tell that to your third-year self," Draco muttered. He then shook his head. "Let's just get back to this chapter. McGonagall said it'd be one of the focuses for the O.W.L."
He seemed bothered — but Ron couldn't pinpoint why.
With O.W.L.s looming near, Ron and Draco spent most of their afternoons poring over their many textbooks. With all the time they had invested, Ron was certain he would get an Outstanding on his Potions exam, and he was beginning to think he might even pull one out of the hat in Transfiguration too. That would shock McGonagall.
One Saturday morning, they were enjoying their usual study session in the library, Draco snapping at Ron for answering questions incorrectly and Ron quickly taking notes on how he could improve. Strangely, Ron found he liked this part of the process just as much as he did being praised.
"You're flapping your arm around like a bloody bat! You're going to end up turning someone's bollocks into a —"
"Malfoy!"
Draco and Ron looked up at unison. Theodore Nott was speeding towards their library table as fast as he could without catching Pince's attention. Once he reached them, he breathlessly slapped a copy of the Daily Prophet atop Draco's Potions book.
"What's this?" Ron asked, frowning at the newspaper.
"Read the headline, you twit," Nott growled. His eyes flicked towards Draco. "It appears you're about to have a nice little family reunion."
Draco seized the paper and scanned the contents; he paled further with each word he read.
"A breakout?" he whispered. "From Azkaban?"
"Notice who they're most worried about," Nott said, pointing at a name in the very first paragraph.
"Bellatrix."
Draco's voice was uncharacteristically small.
Nott nodded slowly.
"Bellatrix — Bellatrix Lestrange?" Ron asked, frowning. "I've heard of her! Draco, she's your —"
"My aunt," he muttered. "On my mother's side."
"Right, formerly Bellatrix Black . . ." Ron trailed off. "Can't believe she got out. Azkaban's supposed to be a fortress and with Sirius Black escaping just a couple years ago — wait, you're related to him too, aren't you?"
"Barely," Draco mumbled. He then looked back up at Nott. "You need to hurry things along, Theo. They're going to —"
"I know," Nott said, swallowing anxiously. "I know."
Ron had no idea what Nott was hurrying along, but if Bellatrix Lestrange was involved . . . something foul was afoot.
He glanced at Draco once more, his stomach sinking when he saw he had gone a shade of green.
Sybill Trelawney's screams were blood-curdling.
Ron half-expected to find her guts spilling out into the entrance hall with the way she sounded, but when he and the rest of the student body shuffled out of their classrooms to see what was happening, he just saw her in the middle of the room, trunk at her side, sobbing. Umbridge stood beside her, smiling idly.
"You c-can't sack me," Trelawney stammered. "I've been here s-sixteen years. Hogwarts is my h-home . . ."
" Was your home," Umbridge corrected her, "until an hour ago."
Ron leaned in to whisper to Draco. "'Bout time. Trelawney's always been a bloody fraud."
Draco nodded in agreement as McGonagall rushed out to join the other two professors. She offered Trelawney a tissue and some words of encouragement while the student body continued to whisper amongst themselves. From what Ron could hear, most people were in agreement that Trelawney should have been fired long ago.
"Bit rubbish they're kicking her out, though," Hannah Abbott said to Susan Bones. "At least let her finish out the year and then she can find somewhere to live, you know?"
"Why?" snarled Zacharias Smith. " Some of our parents are donors to the school. I think they'd prefer not to pay for a woman to live here that's not teaching."
"She's taught here for sixteen years!" hissed Susan. "It's not free . It's payment for all the work she's done. Like a — like a severance ."
The Hufflepuffs continued arguing amongst themselves, only to stop when Dumbledore appeared.
"As High Inquisitor, you have every right to dismiss my teachers," he said to Umbridge. "You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle . . . and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts."
Ron almost expected Draco to roll his eyes, but his expression was unreadable — almost like he actually agreed with Dumbledore for once.
"Goes to show Dumbledore's a moron after all," Draco sneered into his goblet the next evening. " Another half-breed as a teacher? It's an abomination."
"So then go complain to your father about it," Pansy spat from down the table. "Since that's how you handle everything else."
Draco scowled.
"She's not wrong, mate," Blaise quipped. "If anyone will have something to say about it, it's good old Lucius. And he can actually get him sacked."
"But then we could end up with someone worse ," Ron pointed out. "For being a centaur he seemed like an all right bloke. Better than Trelawney, right?"
The other Slytherins narrowed their eyes at him, except for Nott and Pansy who were smirking to themselves.
"He's not even human," Draco hissed. "It's an insult to our magic."
"So was Trelawney," Ron said coolly.
Draco looked annoyed for a moment, but Blaise laughed. He raised his goblet.
"You know, Weasley, you raise a good point."
Divination classes with Firenze the centaur were actually vastly better than they had been with Trelawney. While Draco glared at the creature for the entire hour, even his complaints about the coursework had dwindled.
One day, after class, Ron followed his blond friend down from the Divination Tower, only to bump directly into a rather frazzled Cho Chang. Something clattered to the floor and she scrambled to pick it back up.
"Oh! Ronald! I'm so sorry," she said, seizing the metallic object with haste. " Ahem , sorry, I was just — I was just . . . distracted."
"Nothing to worry yourself over, I'm not fussed," Ron said, waving her off.
As he passed her by, he turned back to look at her. Between her fingers was what appeared to be a rather shiny Galleon.
Later in the common room, he relayed the event to Draco and Blaise, irate.
"She picked it up like she thought I was going to steal it! Oh, watch out, Weasley's poor, of course he'd steal a Galleon. Honestly! It was embarrassing ."
"Well, were you going to steal it?" Blaise asked, smirking.
"Watch it, Zabini — unless you want to get hit with another Bat-Bogey." Ron spat. A devilish grin grew on his face as Blaise turned away in shame. "Yeah, I heard about that whole thing with my sister. Can't believe you let a fourth-year get the best of you."
"Weasley's kid sister landed a curse on you?" Draco laughed.
"She's good!" Blaise exclaimed, wounded. "And quick! I wasn't ready."
"Doesn't make it any less pathetic," muttered Draco.
Blaise balled up a piece of parchment and threw it at him.
"Hey, it's not my fault you lost to the She-Weasel —"
But before Draco could finish his sentence, Nott sped into the room. Wheezing, he looked directly at Draco, an unreadable glint in his eye.
"Malfoy."
"Yes, what is it?"
"Fudge is here. Dumbledore's in some kind of trouble."
Draco's eyebrows shot up.
"Whatever it is, it's bad," Nott went on. "Your fa — we might be in a good position soon."
Draco gave him a business-like nod. "Make sure you report it."
Nott nodded back.
Ron had a feeling that whatever they were doing involved quite a lot of rule-bending. Blaise was watching the other two boys with interest, likely thinking the same thing.
"Get up, Mr. Weasley. I won't ask you again," a low voice warned.
Confused, Ron blinked away the blur of early morning. To his surprise, Snape was bathed in darkness, towering over him with his signature scowl.
"Professor?" he murmured. "What time is it?"
"Half five," Crabbe answered from across the room. He was pulling on his socks; Goyle and Draco were getting dressed too.
"Half five?" Ron echoed, sitting up. "Why are you getting us up so early? What's going on?"
"Our new headmistress has requested a meeting with several students from our house," Snape drawled, seemingly unimpressed. "Including yourself."
"Headmistress? Dumbledore's been replaced?"
Snape pressed his lips together. "You will learn more shortly. Now, if we're finished with the interrogation, she did ask that I ensure you all make haste, and as of right now, Mr. Weasley, you're the only one that appears to be slowing us down."
Blushing, Ron kicked off his covers and reached for his robes, which he had left in a pile beside his bed, despite Draco's usual protests. Once dressed, he followed Snape to the common room, where they met Pansy, Millicent, Graham Montague, Cassius Warrington, and Farida Anand. The group then tailed Snape up from the dungeons, through the many corridors, and all the way to Professor Umbridge's office.
"Why are we here?" Crabbe asked. "I thought —"
The door suddenly opened, cutting Crabbe short.
Umbridge was indeed inside, sitting at her desk and sipping a cup of morning tea. She grinned and beckoned them into the bright pink room.
"Come, come. I do apologize for the early meeting, but this was of the utmost importance." She craned her neck. "Thank you for bringing them, Severus. You may go now."
Snape hesitated for a moment, ultimately leaving, but seeming rather unsure about it.
They then filed into the small office, examining the unexpected decorations that the professor had chosen. Umbridge's salmon robes made everyone wholly aware of her favorite color, but Ron was surprised to see the number of mewing kitten plates and lacy white doilies that lined the charmed-pink walls. Pansy looked more bothered than anyone, her nose crinkled in disgust, almost as though she had smelled something bad.
Perhaps, she did. As Ron slid over to make room for Montague, the stink of Umbridge's floral perfume hit him square in the nose.
"Such good students coming here so early," Umbridge said, smiling broadly. "Clear proof that you were all the right choice for this special project."
Cassius Warrington raised a hand and asked, "Erm — what is the project, Professor?"
"Well, Mr. Warrington, you and your peers have been given one of the newest and highest responsibilities in the school." Her smile grew. "You will all be members of the Inquisitorial Squad."
Ron glanced at Draco, wondering if his friend knew what that meant. He looked just as perplexed as Ron felt.
"The what?" Goyle inquired.
"The Inquisitorial Squad," Umbridge repeated, stirring some sugar into her cup. "This morning, Albus Dumbledore was removed as headmaster of this school. As the new headmistress, I've taken it upon myself to . . . improve the quality of education here at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, there is a group of students here that are working quite hard to stop me."
The Slytherins exchanged looks.
"Harry Potter is leading an organization meant to harm his fellow students — and the Ministry of Magic itself."
Gasps filled the room, but Ron noticed Draco didn't react the same as the rest. Instead, he raised a questioning eyebrow directed at Ron himself.
He had likely came to the same conclusion that Ron had weeks before: Whatever this group was, Ginny was involved.
" Harm us?" Pansy asked. "What do you mean by harm us?"
"I'm afraid I mean exactly that, Miss Parkinson. That is why I have organized this group of the school's best students. While you will all watch over the happenings around this fine establishment, your main purpose will be to catch Harry Potter and his troubled friends."
"Easy enough," Draco said. "We have classes with him. We can hold him down —"
"No, we must have ample evidence," Umbridge cut in, her tone harsh. Immediately, it was replaced with a smile once more. "I want you to catch them in the act of carrying out or planning wrongdoing. Yes, that is what I will need . . . to press charges."
"Charges?" Ron repeated. "Like he'd go to Azkaban?"
"Possibly. He did kill Cedric Diggory, Mr. Weasley. I think Azkaban is a natural fit."
Crabbe and Millicent murmured in agreement. Draco smirked.
"What about prefects from other houses?" Pansy asked, her arms crossed. "Longbottom and Granger are close with him. If we can't punish them , this won't work."
"Ah yes," Umbridge replied saccharinely. "You will all have authority over prefects — and the Head Boy and Girl, though I do not suspect they will be wasting their time with the likes of Harry Potter. But if they are . . ." Her expression darkened. "You may use whatever force necessary."
Crabbe and Goyle grinned at that detail.
"Any other questions?" Umbridge asked, smiling.
Nobody had any. They all left with shiny, gold badges.
As instructed, the Inquisitorial Squad made their authority known to Potter right away — or at least Ron and Draco did.
They were crossing the entrance hall on their way to Care of Magical Creatures, and that's when they saw him. He was staring at the most recent Educational Decree, mouth agape, with Granger at his side, as usual. Draco smirked and stalked towards them, Ron following suit.
"I expect she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Head's office, lording it over all the other teachers," Granger hissed. "The stupid, puffed-up, power-crazy old —"
"Now, do you really want to finish that sentence, Granger?" Draco asked.
"I know you like her, Malfoy, but Headmistress ? It's preposterous." She crossed her arms. "Even you can't honestly think —"
"Another word out of you and I'll be docking points from Gryffindor," Draco warned. His eyes shot to Potter. "Might have to take them away anyway for running with this bell-end."
" I'm the bell-end?" Potter fumed. "You're the one who — wait, you can't take points away from other prefects." He glanced at Granger inquisitively. "Can he?"
Ron watched as her eyes traveled to their gold badges.
"I'm not just a prefect anymore," Draco explained, gesturing his own badge. "As you can see, Ron and I have been given these ."
"And just what are those for?" Granger inquired, her voice raising an octave. She was worried, even if she tried to hide it.
"We're part of the Inquisitorial Squad now," Ron said proudly. "More authority than prefects or the Head Boy and Girl."
Potter's brow furrowed. "What? But that's — but that's not a real thing!" He turned back to Granger. "It's not, is it?"
She was staring at Draco, warily taking in his small smirk.
"It seems that it is now," she said softly.
Her eyes ran across their badges once more.
Ron found he enjoyed having some authority.
With his new badge, people listened to him. Students of all ages moved out of his way. House-elves cowered when he came in to check the kitchens. Even some professors treated him with more respect. By Draco's side, he ruled the entire school, and it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.
He was powerful .
After doing his usual rounds, he stepped into the abandoned classroom near the stairwell where Fred and George sold their products. Of course, they had the sense to move once the Inquisitorial Squad made that their regular meeting place.
"You're late," Farida sniffed, not bothering to look up at him as he closed the door. She flipped the parchment on her clipboard. "Montague is doing rounds outside so he won't be joining us. Bulstrode, you'll be expected to fill him in on what he missed."
"With pleasure," Millicent replied. She was sitting beside Crabbe, her beefy fingers laced with his.
"So, what's the news on Potter?" Goyle asked. "Anything new?"
"They're still skulking about the seventh floor," Draco informed the group. "Granger, Longbottom, and Potter have been spotted there three times this week." His eyes skimmed over Ron. "Earlier today, they were seen with Ginny Weasley."
"Could kill her," Ron growled, shaking his head. "Consorting with a murderer like that."
"Mad she's consorting with a murderer so you plan to murder her. Brilliant, Weasley. Truly, you're a beacon of intellect," Pansy sneered.
"Shut it," Farida hissed. "He's just watching out for his sister."
"Can't relate," Pansy replied airily, examining her perfectly manicured nails. "My parents had the sense not to have an entire herd of children ."
"You're not helping, Pansy!" Draco shouted. He then cleared his throat and looked away from her. "If we start arguing amongst ourselves, we'll get disorganized."
Ron chewed on his lip. Draco standing up for him — especially to Pansy — made something shift in his chest.
"So it's up in the seventh corridor, wherever they're meeting," Cassius said, pulling them back to the problem at hand. "We could probably just split up and catch them."
"If it were that easy, we'd have them already. They're using some kind of magic," Draco said. "Wards, obviously, but I'm not sure which ones."
Filch had been quiet as usual, boredly stroking Mrs. Norris. Umbridge had allowed him to join the Inquisitorial Squad as the official chaperone, though he rarely had much to say, and certainly didn't supervise anybody. Yet that day, he did speak. It might of been the first time.
"Or they're using the Room of Requirement," he said.
"The what?" Ron asked.
"No idea how to get in. Maybe only able to if you've got magic," Filch growled. "Can't see the door or nothin', but it exists. Seen it on maps in the old headmaster's office."
"And it's on the seventh floor?" Draco inquired.
Filch nodded.
"That's what we're looking for then," Ron breathed. "A room with no door."
"Seems simple enough," grumbled Cassius.
"It will be," Draco replied. "Because we're going to follow them in."
Ron was trying to focus on catching Potter and his friends — and his own sister , which made him a bit queasy — but after finding out he had to meet with Snape, he was having a hard time thinking about much else.
Posted in the entrance hall was a memo stating that all fifth-years were required to meet with their Heads of House to discuss their professional future, and it was this memo that was plastered at the forefront of Ron's brain. As he and Draco stood guard in the late hours of the evening, he turned to his friend, curious if he was the only one that was nervous.
"So what d'you think about the whole Career Advice thing?"
"It's a waste of my time," Draco scoffed. "I'm a Malfoy . Malfoys don't work."
"Simple enough for you, then, isn't it?" Ron complained enviously. "You just have to tell him that and it'll be over. Imagine what he's going to tell me ." In his best Snape voice, he recited, " Mr. Weasley. Will you be following in your misguided father's footsteps in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, or do you plan on making something of yourself? Really, it's going to be horrible ."
"Snape knows you wouldn't dare stoop that low," Draco sneered. "I've known you for five years and I still barely believe that man is your father."
Ron's mood sunk a bit. He loved his father, but he knew his career choice was far from respectable.
"Speaking of Muggles, I heard Granger talking in the library," Draco went on. "She thinks she's going to be Minister for Magic . What a bloody joke. McGonagall's probably going to encourage her too, the old bat."
"She's Muggle-born. There's never been a Muggle-born Minister for Magic before," Ron replied. "Doubt she'd be the first."
"Hopefully, nobody's the first," Draco muttered. He then looked down at his watch. "Where the hell are Millicent and Filch? We were supposed to be off shift twenty minutes ago."
Draco kept looking around, eager to find the other two. After nearly an hour, he shook his head.
"Let's go. It's their own fault for not making it on time and I have to use the lavatory. ."
That night, they left the seventh floor staircase unguarded.
"Mr. Weasley," Snape greeted Ron. "Do sit down."
Ron looked around the Potions Master's dark office before doing as he was told. Never had there been a year that he spent so much time in teachers' offices.
"You are here to discuss which career paths may suit you in the future," Snape said, scribbling something down on a parchment. He didn't bother looking at Ron. "Something tells me you do not share your father's interest in Muggle artifacts."
Ron took a steady breath. "N-no, sir. I — I don't want to work in the Misuse Office. I'm — I'm actually not so sure what I want to do."
Snape raised his head and arched a brow. "That is not so unusual at your age, but as you will be entering the workforce in only two years, I do recommend thinking on it . . . Based on your talents, I would think you'd be interested in Potions? Or, I daresay, Quidditch?"
Ron's face flushed. Playing Quidditch professionally had crossed his mind, but it was a bit embarrassing to admit.
"You think I could do it? Play Quidditch for a living?"
Snape snorted. "I'm not pleased to inform you that you hardly have the talent for such a thing . . . but surely you know that. beings Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle managed to rob you of your former playing position. That said, there are other career avenues within the realm of the sport . . . They need healers, managers, there is always the Department of Magical Games . . . Surely, some of these may come of interest to you."
It wasn't news that Ron wasn't talented enough to play professionally. Quidditch was what he loved most though, and Snape had given him options that seemed fairly tangible.
"Yeah, I think so," Ron replied anxiously. He suddenly realized that he had the prospect of working with world-famous Quidditch players in all of the jobs that Snape mentioned. This made him nervous. "I — er — I think the Department of Magical Games would be interesting. Or maybe managing, like you said?"
"The Department would likely only come after a career in management, unless you'd like to start at an entry level I'm not sure you can afford, given your family's . . . financial situation." Snape flipped through his notes until he reached a parchment with CAREERS IN MAGICAL GAMES stamped across the top. He made a copy and handed it to Ron. "That said, here are the marks you would be required to have to enter any profession in this sector."
Dozens of avenues in the Quidditch field — and other games — were listed. The grades he needed to go into any of them were actually not very difficult to achieve, sans Gobstones Strategist which, for some reason, required eight N.E.W.T.s.
Then, he saw it.
At the bottom of the page, there was a note stating: Most careers in Quidditch will require a minimum of six years playing the sport.
"Six years? But in my fourth year —"
"I'm sure they'll be understanding of situations out of your control," Snape interrupted. He then glanced at the clock. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another meeting, Mr. Weasley. I hope this has provided some . . . clarity."
Ron nodded — but as he looked at the sheet, he wasn't so sure.
What if he really did have to have six years of Quidditch?
"Six years, they want," Ron groused. He and Draco were dragging their feet back to the common room after yet another night standing guard. "Six! Snape said they might give me a break since there was no cup last year, but —"
They turned into the next hallway, and Ron's words died on his tongue.
There, a first-year was keeled over, a puddle of vomit rapidly pooling around his feet as he emptied his stomach onto the cobblestone. Just behind him, Filch was shouting at Fred and George, his face violet with rage as he bombarded them with insults. Judging by the sounds Mrs. Norris was making, she wasn't happy either.
The twins, on the other hand, seemed amused.
"Hoodlums! The both of you! When I tell the headmistress —"
"When d'you plan on telling her?" George asked eagerly.
"Yeah, you ought to go now," Fred encouraged, grinning.
"Oh, I plan on it," Filch growled. "You both can be bettin' I'll —"
"Yes, you go," Draco cut in, quickly approaching the sick first-year. The twins jerked their attention towards him, eyes wide. "Take him to the hospital wing on your way. Weasley and I will keep watch here."
Fred and George exchanged looks that might have been inconspicuous to someone that hadn't grown up with them, but Ron noticed at once.
"Wait a minute . . ." he said. "You two really do want him to take you to Umbridge!"
"And why on earth would we want that?" asked George nonchalantly.
"Because you're trying to get caught! You're covering for someone else!" Ron accused. He turned to Draco. "It's a distraction of some sort, I know it is."
"A distraction?" Fred asked. "Ickle Ronniekins, what in Merlin's name would we want to distract dear old Filch from?"
"Yeah, makes no sense, little brother," George quipped. "Just trying to make some sales."
That was when Ron saw it. In George's hand was something shiny. It caught in the torchlight, the gold glinting between his fingers.
A Galleon.
"You're charging a whole Galleon for those?" Ron asked, wondering just how much his brothers had been earning with their so-called business. He couldn't help but feel a bit jealous — and perhaps entitled to a cut, considering he had been their test subject a handful of times.
George's eyes then darted from Ron to Draco. He was panicking.
"Getting out of class is worth a fair bit, wouldn't you say?" he said all too quickly.
"I'd pay two Galleons to avoid Defense alone," Fred butted in.
Draco drew his eyebrows together. He was subtly reaching for his wand, though Ron wasn't sure why. The twins were acting strange, but the situation hardly seemed like it had escalated into a possible duel.
"Ron, didn't you say Cho Chang dropped a Galleon recently?" Draco asked, his tone laced with suspicion.
Ron nodded. That was when he recalled the way Chang reacted, the nervous look on her face as she scrambled to pick the coin back up. The same nervous look he saw on his identical brothers now.
The Galleon, perhaps, wasn't a Galleon at all.
Ron held his palm out.
"Give me that," he ordered.
"Why?" George asked. "Trying to steal from your own family? That's low, Ronald. Mum won't be happy to hear —"
"Give him the bloody Galleon," Draco snarled. His eyes flicked to Filch. "Take that one to the hospital wing. Ron and I will handle these two."
Filch hesitated, concernedly looking at Draco's drawn wand and then back to the vomiting first-year. After a long moment, he squared his shoulders and seized the sick student by the collar, dragging him down the hallway.
Mrs. Norris tailed them, seemingly pleased with her master's choice.
Meanwhile, Ron's hand was still outstretched.
"Don't make us take it from you, Weasley," Draco growled.
George's eyes pivoted to Fred. The second twin inhaled deeply and nodded. Then, trepidatiously, George reached out and dropped the coin in Ron's palm.
Ron examined it.
"All it says is the date," he muttered, looking up at Draco. "Today's date, actually. Which means they must be meeting —"
"Stupefy!"
Ron gasped and reached for his own wand, flabbergasted by Fred's boldness as Draco fell to the floor. But Ron was too slow.
The tip of George's wand was trained directly between his eyes.
"Sorry, little brother," he mumbled.
"George, wait —"
"Stupefy!"
Yet again, Ron found himself in a teacher's office.
McGonagall's office was much warmer than Snape's, and less sickly-pink than Umbridge's. Small portraits littered the walls — mostly of snoozing witches Ron didn't recognize — along with other items such as a rusted rapier and a clock that moved too fast.
Unfortunately, with McGonagall's office came McGonagall.
Her expression was stern, much like Snape's as he hovered over her shoulder with his arms crossed. Together, they were a strange pair.
"I must say, Mr. Weasley," she began, "I am appalled and embarrassed by the members of my house attacking you and Mr. Malfoy. I can promise you they will be dealt with accordingly."
"Did you write my mum yet?" Ron asked bitterly. "Because they'll get it worse at home."
"Forget writing your mother, they should be expelled!" Draco exclaimed. "Professor Snape, if I could contact my father —"
"Beings Mr. Weasley and Mr. W — oh, this is all too confusing. Beings Fred and George are in my house, they are my responsibility. That said, Professor Umbridge —" The words were dripping with contempt. "— has stated she prefers they serve their punishment with her, as they attacked two members of the Inquisitorial Squad. You can trust she will handle the issue appropriately."
"I will see to it that she does," Professor Snape drawled. "Considering the item of interest you both mentioned, I will be suggesting Fred and George Weasley have a member of the staff search their belongings . . . unless you have any objections, Minerva?"
He raised a challenging brow.
McGonagall's eyes pinballed around the room for a brief second. She then offered a courteous smile.
"I'll look through their things this evening," she volunteered. "Personally."
The Quidditch season had been grim for Slytherin that term, leaving Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw to be the most important match of the year. Cormac McLaggen had been helping fill in for Gryffindor during Potter's absence, and apparently, he was quite good.
But it didn't make up for Fred and George being out.
Ravenclaw won the Quidditch Cup, much to the joy of all of Slytherin House. They celebrated in the common room, charming illusions of blue-and-bronze eagles into the air.
Yet Ron wondered just how loyal they should be to the team.
After all, Ginny had told him all houses but Slytherin had joined Potter. With thoughts of Cho Chang, he retired to the dormitory early.
The following weeks were wholly uneventful. Crammed with study sessions and sleepless nights, the only noteworthy thing that happened was that Fred and George were, decidedly, not expelled, as Ron saw them slipping in and out of Umbridge's office regularly.
The two of them were quieter than usual, seeming glum even in the Great Hall.
Yet Ron pushed his brothers to the back of his mind. As expected, the O.W.L.s were grueling, and they required his full attention if he wanted to achieve his required marks to work in magical games. He'd been studying with Draco for months, and while he hoped it would pay off, some of the spells were just not something they learned that year.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was particularly troublesome.
"Yes, but can you perform the counter-curse?" the squeaky little examiner asked, after Ron recited the incantation for the umpteenth time.
"I know the spell," Ron repeated. "Professor Umbridge said that'd be enough!"
The tiny wizard seemed perplexed. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and shook his head. "Knowing the spell is half the battle, yes, but to pass the O.W.L., you must perform it."
Ron tried, but ended up with a bloodied nose instead. He groaned as the little wizard gave him a stern look and guided him away.
It hardly seemed fair. It wasn't Ron's fault Umbridge didn't let them try any spells.
What he found even more annoying was the fact that both Potter and Granger cast the counter-curse with ease. He wanted to demand to know how they did it, but he knew it had to do with whatever Potter had them doing in the Room of Requirement. If the Scarhead was planning a mutiny, his followers would have to know spellwork.
Perhaps Ginny, a mere fourth-year, would have passed the exam with flying colors. Ron frowned at the thought.
The fifth-years survived the O.W.L.s. Still, they had some time left at Hogwarts, and the Inquisitorial Squad was more determined than ever to catch Potter and his friends. According to Umbridge, it was likely he was planning his attack on the last day of the school-year, and it was their job to ensure he couldn't carry out his scheme.
Ron and Draco, now itching to stop the Scarhead at any cost, were getting ready for yet another late night on the seventh floor, but as they prepared to leave the common room, Ron realized they had a problem.
"Where's Nott? He wasn't in the dormitory."
"So?"
Ron groaned. "Damn it, Nott. We don't have time for this tonight."
"What?" Draco asked a bit too quickly. "Don't have time for what?"
"Dealing with him! If we catch him out of bed, we have to take it to Umbridge," Ron explained, annoyed. "I don't want to have to do that, and I'm sure you don't either."
All of a sudden, Draco looked panicked. Panicked like Cho. Panicked like Fred and George.
Panicked like he knew something .
"Draco . . . you wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?" Ron asked skeptically.
"Of course I don't." Draco pulled out his pocketwatch and cleared his throat. "We have two minutes to get to the seventh floor. Best we get moving."
Draco shoved the watch back into his pocket and hurried towards the common room door. Ron followed closely behind him.
"If you know something, you gotta tell me, mate," Ron said. "Otherwise, we've got to report him. Umbridge said anyone could be on Potter's side, and if he's not in bed —"
Draco whirled around. "C'mon, you know he's not with bloody Potter!"
"But I don't know that. Look, my own sister is messing about with the git, so excuse me for not trusting Nott either. Unless you know exactly what he's doing —"
"I can't tell you exactly what he's doing, all right?" Draco hissed lowly. "But he's on important business. We can't report him."
"What does that mean , though?" Ron asked, crossing his arms. "I need to know if you expect me not to tell anyone!"
"I already told you I can't tell you," Draco muttered. He averted his gaze to the floor.
"Fine, I'm going to Umbridge then."
Ron pushed past Draco to get to the doorknob. His left hand was on his wand, prepared to duel his best friend if he had to, though his stomach twisted at the thought.
" Really , Weasley? You're going to go tattle because you feel left out?"
A pang in Ron's chest told him that Draco was right. That was why he was going to Umbridge, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
"I'm doing what I'm supposed to do," Ron spat, feigning resolve. "Now, you can tell me, or I'll be stepping out this door and going straight to Umbridge."
The cogs of Draco's brain were working hastily. He wore the same expression he always wore when he was trying to solve a difficult problem. Ron never expected to be one of those problems, but then again, Draco didn't always do what people expected of him.
"Fine," he said at last. "I'll tell you what I can, but this stays between us."
"All right," Ron said with a nod. He tucked his wand away, thankful Draco didn't decide to try and Stun him. "Go on, then. Where is he?"
"Hogsmeade."
"Doing what?"
"Delivering a message."
"A message," Ron repeated. "To his father?"
"Yes, a message, and yes, to his father. And others. If he doesn't get it to the — the people he needs to get it to — well, it could end quite poorly for my family."
Ron frowned. He hadn't expected that .
"What d'you mean?"
"Well for starters, my father could end up in Azkaban," Draco muttered.
"Why would your father go to Azkaban ?"
Draco met his eyes. They were pleading, a look Ron wasn't sure he had ever seen from him before. For once in his life, Draco Malfoy did not look haughty or sure of himself.
He looked worried .
"I can't tell you, but I can assure you Nott's working against Potter — probably more than we are, actually. I assumed it was clear before but apparently you're too d —" Draco sighed. "Please . . . please just trust me, yeah?"
Nott wasn't trustworthy. Ron wasn't even sure Draco was trustworthy. Nobody in Slytherin trusted each other, after all, and they were probably right not to.
But this time, Ron decided to trust his best friend — not because he believed him, but because the fear in Draco's eyes told a story that needed to find a very pointed ending.
An ending he entrusted with both Ron and Theodore Nott.
The next morning, Nott returned, but in the days that followed, Draco continued to remain distant. Ron tried to distract him with wizard's chess and gobstones, but nothing seemed to hold his attention. He was somewhere else — somewhere in his head, somewhere he wouldn't — or couldn't — bring Ron.
He was in that very place when Snape burst into the common room.
"What's wrong?" Ron asked, frowning.
Snape's eyes flicked from Draco to Nott, then to Crabbe and Goyle.
"You're all to stay here. No matter what you hear or what else you might have been —" He looked at Nott. " — told to do by others, you're to remain here. Do you understand?"
"We understand, but why?" Ron asked. "What's going on?"
Snape inhaled. "Our dearest headmistress and deputy headmistress have run into a bit of an emergency. Potter and his friends were to blame. They're on the run."
Draco's eyes widened. Nott was equally concerned, even if he was slightly better at schooling his features.
Snape looked around the room one last time, pinning his gaze on Crabbe and Goyle before settling back on Nott.
"I believe I've made myself clear. Do not leave the dungeons."
The Slytherins followed Snape's orders. For hours, they played games halfheartedly, Draco losing over and over again even when he was positioned perfectly. Nott lay sprawled across one of the sofas, flipping through a book as though nothing was wrong. Crabbe and Goyle shared the final remnants of their bottle of firewhisky.
All they could do was pass the time, so they did — with gobstones, books, chess, and alcohol.
They were amid yet another lackluster round of wizard's chess when Draco took a heaving breath and glanced at Ron. Pain was in his eyes.
Pain that Ron wanted to take away.
"Think I'm turning in for the night," Nott mumbled, shutting his book.
Once he was gone, Ron realized he and Draco were the only two left in the common room.
A long while passed, with them still playing chess in silence. They were accompanied only by the crackling fire and the eerie, dark green the lake cast into the room at night. Somehow, it felt like they were the only ones left in the entire world — sequestered to a luxe dungeon bunker.
Eventually, Draco cleared his throat.
"Do you think you could do me a favor?"
"Yeah, of course, mate," Ron said quickly. "What's up?"
"If erm — if I'm not here next year," Draco whispered, his voice cracking. "Just er — just tell Pansy it wasn't her fault it didn't work out, yeah?"
"What d'you mean if you're not here?" Ron asked, alarmed.
Draco gave him a small smile.
Pain still shone in his eyes.
