"I can't believe they're still allowing us to come to Hogsmeade," Hermione said, wrapping her scarf around herself to guard from the biting late-autumn wind.

Ron put an arm around her. "Three Broomsticks?" he suggested.

"Let's," Hermione agreed. They pushed their way into the crowded little pub and found a table for the four of them.

"It's not cleared," Ginny said with disgust.

"Rosmerta will get it," Harry assured her. He absently picked up the copy of the Daily Prophet lying on the table and scanned the front page. "Hey!" He sat up in his chair. "Look at this!"

Ginny took the paper from his hands. "Ministry of Magic Frees Suspects," she read. "Several individuals who have been arrested on suspicions of Death Eater activity, including Knight Bus conductor Stan Shunpike, have been released. "The Ministry of Magic acknoledges their mistake in detaining these witches and wizards, and apologizes for the major inconveniences we have caused them," said Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour in a statement Monday afternoon."

Hermione was awed.

"So they've done something right for once." Ron smiled up at Madam Rosmerta as she set a butterbeer in front of him.

Ginny's face was pinched. "A trade?"

Harry snorted. "I'm glad they let Stan go, but if Scrimgeour thinks that will draw me in..."

Taking a sip of her butterbeer, Hermione watched Harry carefully. "At least it's a noble try," she pointed out. "Maybe he's just trying to clear up Fudge's mistakes."

Settling back into his chair, Harry pondered this. "I'm not going to be their poster child."

"They'd be lucky to get a Blast-Ended Skrewt for a mascot," Ginny said adamantly, taking a pull off her bottle and slamming it on the table to punctuate her sentence. When she looked up, she met three suppressed smiles. "What?"

A laugh escaped Ron's lips. "I can picture Scrimgeour in a Skrewt's pincer, dangling in the air, screaming to a horde of onlookers-- 'Don't worry folks, my close personal friend Harry Potter will be along in a minute to save me... don't you worry...'"

They laughed.

"We should go to Fred and George's," Ginny suggested excitedly. "I haven't been to their new shop yet."

"That's right," Harry said, remembering. "They opened up a place in Hogsmeade, didn't they?"

Ginny nodded enthusiastically. "And they've invented some sort of packaging," she told him, "that will be able to get past Filch's sensors."

Hermione groaned, but Ron and Harry got to their feet. "Let's go!"

"Should clear the table," Ron mentioned, almost as an afterthought. "Rosmerta's really busy in here today." He scooped up the bottles and, on the way out, deposited them in the trash.

Ginny led the way down the streets of Hogsmeade, past Zonko's, which was uncharacteristically empty, and down to a tiny little shop which was packed full of eager Hogwarts students, their pockets full of Sickles to spend on tricks and other amusements.

"Wow," whistled Ginny, standing on her tiptoes. "I dunno if we'll even be able to get in."

Hermione tilted her head back. "It looks like it's going to rain soon, too." She nestled into her scarf. "I didn't bring a coat-- I don't want to walk back in the rain."

"We'll be fast," Ron assured her, and ducked between two fourth-year Ravenclaws who were discussing what they were going to name their Pygmy Puffs once they purchased them.

"Extendable Ears," Harry said, digging into a bin. "I've exhausted my supply." He grabbed a few.

Ron grinned back from behind a display of Skiving Snackboxes. "Go on ahead," he said. "I've had enough of Slughorn's class already. I'll need some of these come N.E.W.T. time-- best stock up now."

Harry laughed and joined Ginny, who was looking at Pygmy Puffs. "You have one," he reminded her with a smile.

"I know," she said, poking her finger into their cage. "But they're so cute... and Arnold gets lonely sometimes, don't you think?"

"You're cute." He kissed her on the cheek and went to check out the shelves full of quills. "Hey, Ron--" he held up a new, deluxe Self-Inking Quill. "You should get one for Hermione."

"She'd like that, wouldn't she?" Ron came over to Harry and examined it, then after looking at the price, quickly set it back on the shelf.

"Don't worry about it, mate," Harry said, and slipped some gold into his pocket.

Ron scowled at him. "Harry..."

"She'll like it," Harry reaffirmed, and handed him the quill.

Grudgingly, Ron took it.

"C'mon, guys," Ginny said, appearing at their side with a handful of items. "Let's go."

They paid for their items-- a nice young witch named Nickie assisted them-- and when Harry asked where the twins were, she blushingly responded that "George and his brother are at the shop in Diagon Alley."

When they got outside, Hermione was waiting for them on a bench. "Ready?" she said brightly.

"I got you something," Ron told her immediately, and pulled the quill from the bag.

Hermione turned it over in her hands. "I love it!" She beamed and gave him a quick hug. "Thank you."

"Well-- Harry and I got it for you," he stammered.

"Oh," she said, and turned to Harry. "Thank you, too, then."

"No problem," Harry said automatically, privately wishing that Ron would recognize when to shelve his selflessness.

"Shall we go then?" Hermione handed the quill back to Ron. "You should tuck that back into your bag so it doesn't get wet." She pointed at the sky. "It looks pretty ominous."

Ginny grinned and pulled at Ron's sleeve. "Race you!"

Ron took off running after his sister.

Halfway down the path, after Harry and Hermione had finally caught up and the siblings had slowed down, Harry looked at Ginny. "And what was that all about?"

"We used to race all the time when we were little," Ginny replied, laughing.

"And who would always win?" The corners of Ron's mouth were turned up in a smug smile.

"Me," Ginny boasted. "I was the fastest."

"Oh, no." He socked her with his bag of tricks. "I crossed the finish line before you nearly every time."

Hermione and Harry smiled at each other, watching them banter back and forth.

"Almost makes me sad that I don't have a brother," Hermione said ruefully, and a big raindrop hit her square in the nose.

Harry looked up, and a drop of water landed on his glasses. He looked back at Hermione, who was positively cringing at the thought of getting wet. "Race you!" he said, and shot off down the path.

Squealing, she took off after him.

On the very edge of Hogsmeade, at the base of the great mountain, stood a thick and tall tree. No one knew exactly how long it had grown there, but it had been left untouched by the inhabitants of the village for years, who were in awe of its great long life and the beautiful shade of red that its leaves turned in autumn.

It was this tree that Draco Malfoy had chose to blast at with his wand, creating a grotto in the trunk just big enough to hide himself in. He covered the opening with fallen boughs, and when he slept at night, he slept sitting up.

The first few days in his tree-cave had been spent thinking, and ultimately falling asleep in the process. Soon he was so rested that he became restless, and he decided to go explore a little. He stuck to the area immediately around the tree and saw that there was no immediate threat of being discovered; once he had figured this out, he became a hunter. With well-aimed Killing Curses, he slaughtered his meals and roasted them over fires started with the help of Incendio. Mostly his meals consisted of rabbit-- he got a few deer as summer waned, and a pheasant once, though he mainly kept his curses to the ground, not wanting to attract the attention.

He bathed only when it rained, with no soap, and washed his clothes in the same crude way-- hanging them from the tree branches in stormy weather, then wringing them out and laying them flat on the ground when the sun came out, always careful not to give any signal that there was someone living in the tall tree. And always, nearly five minutes after he was dry, he was covered in dirt and sweat again. God, how he loathed this existence.

But he liked hunting, and killed more animals than he needed, simply because it took his mind off everything else. When he was tracking a rabbit, he was momentarily distracted from the fact that Voldemort was really, at the same time, tracking him. He supposed it was all the same, and he'd die sooner or later. But, he thought, shedding his grubby Slytherin tie and fastening a knot around the second dead rabbit's neck, better later.

Upon arriving back home-- he thought of the cave as "home" now-- he was alarmed to see that his small cache of herbs had been stolen. He was tired of having plain, unseasoned meat, and blamed this injustice on the rabbits. As he unknotted his day's take, he made up his mind to kill each and every rabbit that inhabited Hogsmeade.

Later that day, Draco sat down in the dimming sunlight with his evening meal. He was having duck tonight-- a delicacy that he had killed when the animal had been unfortunate enough to land outside his tree. As he sprinkled what meager herbs he'd rescued over the meat, he found himself longing for the Yorkshire pudding they always ate with their duck at home. His mother never let the house-elves prepare it. "They never do it right," she would say, turning her nose up at them, and flounce into the kitchen herself, tying a big apron around her black satin robes. She'd bark out orders-- "Dobby, get the flour!"-- and the whole kitchen would break their backs to help her with her task.

He smiled fondly and looked down at his duck.

Outside, a stick snapped, and he was shaken out of his reverie. Immediately, his guard went up; he set his food down and drew his wand.

"Come on, Asra!" The voice was entreating and familiar.

The girl addressed as Asra giggled. "I just want to see this tree, Dean!" Leaves crunched beneath her feet as she ran up to it.

Dean Thomas, Draco thought. And a girlfriend, maybe?

"C'mon." Dean's voice was closer now.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" A pause. "Look at how red the leaves are. Like apples."

"It's not an apple tree."

"I know. I just said the leaves were red like apples."

"Take one back with you," Dean suggested. "Dry it."

"I can't reach!" An eruption of girlish giggles. "I'm much too short, Dean."

"There are plenty on the ground."

"Oh, but..."

"Look... here's one that's perfect."

"Oh, all right." Another pause. "Actually, that one is perfect."

"Let's get back down to the village; they'll be worried about us."

"You worry too much."

More snaps and crunches, and echoes of Dean and Asra's lighthearted argument; finally the sounds faded, and Draco was quite sure he was alone again.

Hogsmeade weekend, thought Draco, and imagined what all his classmates were doing in the village. Surely they would be at Zonko's, and the couples would be cozy in Madam Puddifoot's, and some of them would be enjoying butterbeers in the Three Broomsticks...

He looked down at his unevenly roasted duck. There was nothing for it. Looping the bloody tie around his neck, he kept low and out of sight, and headed toward the castle.

"Yorkshire pudding," Hermione said, pleased, as the dishes filled with food.

Ginny wrinkled her nose.

"My mum," Hermione explained, spooning some onto her plate, "would make it every Sunday."

Harry and Ron both went straight for the roast.

"You know," Harry began, "isn't it odd that Voldemort--"

But he never got to finish his sentence, because at that moment, the door to the Great Hall swung open with a bang, and in strode the last person Harry ever expected to see at Hogwarts again. A hush fell over the students.

"And just what the bloody hell are you doing here?" Ron said out loud.

Draco did not look at him, did not give any sign that he had even heard Ron's outburst.

"How can he even show his face at this school?" demanded Harry. He gripped his knife as if he might fling it at Draco at any moment.

Draco walked calmly down the row, ignoring the murmurs and whispers surrounding him. His shirt and trousers were in tatters, his robes left in a heap in Filch's trash. His face was scratched where brush and animals' claws had reached for him; his tie and shirt were stained with blood, and his once-immaculate hair was matted and filthy. Pansy Parkinson looked as though she might faint dead away from either grief or repulsion.

Several of the first-years asked their elders who the disheveled boy was.

"That's Draco Malfoy," Pansy told Gisela. "He's a Slytherin legend."

"Draco Malfoy," Luna said airily to Melody Salpeter. "He's an attempted murderer."

Melody inched closer to the table.

Draco approached the head table and bent his head to speak to Professor McGonagall. Harry inclined his head, as if that would help him hear. McGonagall, her lips pinched into a thin line, rose hurriedly from the table and beckoned for him to follow her. He did.

Immediately, Harry got to his feet.

"Where are you going?" demanded Hermione.

"Where do you think?" And he was off.

He ran up to his dormitory, fished a pair of Extendable Ears out of the bag from the twins' joke shop, seized his Invisibility Cloak, and raced to McGonagall's office. He pressed one end of the Ears against the door.

"...I didn't have anywhere else to go," Draco was saying.

"You say Severus was in Hogsmeade?"

"Yeah. But I wish you wouldn't go looking for him."

"Draco, he killed Professor Dumbledore."

"Yeah, and I tried, didn't I? How come I haven't been arrested on the spot?"

"Because it was one of Professor Dumbledore's last wishes in the weeks before his death. He felt you would be safe here."

There was a long moment of silence. Harry pressed up to the wall, afraid he might be missing something.

"Do you think he'd really have let me kill him?" Draco's voice was small.

"I cannot say," Professor McGonagall told him. "I only know that Professor Dumbledore did not want death for anyone. But I am quite sure he would have put himself in danger to save three others."

Draco stared at the floor. "Voldemort murdered my mum," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry," said Professor McGonagall.

"Right in front of me."

"Oh..."

"My dad watched. He let it happen. He didn't care." A tear slid down his cheek; he tried to hide it, but it left a clean streak on his filthy face.

"Malfoy--"

"And Snape..." He broke off.

She snapped to attention. "What about Severus?"

He decided that he'd rather keep that information to himself. "Nothing," he lied.

"Where is he?"

"I can't tell you."

"You don't know?"

"No." He paused. "And even so, I have a certain loyalty to him." He straightened in his chair, and for his ratty appearance, he retained plenty of the old Malfoy poise.

"He's a murderer," Professor McGonagall said tensely.

A familiar voice filled the air. "Let the boy have his loyalties, Minerva." A slight pause. "I have mine."