Ron Weasley was worried.

Harry had stopped responding to his letters. They didn't come back unopened, were never returned to him, so he had to assume Harry was getting them. He just wasn't responding. And Harry was usually pretty good about writing back, even when he was angry.

Two letters. It wasn't that bad, really, except that he'd offered to pick his friend up the latest edition of Quidditch Global, a magazine Harry had actually introduced him to. He couldn't get to Daigon Alley himself to pick up the latest edition, and so had complained in one of his last letters about having to re-read the last couple of editions over and over.

He'd thought the other boy would be excited to hear he was about to get the most recent edition of the magazine ... but nothing. He hadn't even written back to say don't bother, that he had somehow gotten his hands on the magazine. Not that that sounded very likely. Harry was a virtual prisoner in his relatives' home.

It was, surprisingly, not his mother who noticed how on edge he had been lately, but one of his brothers.

Charlie Weasley sighed as he watched his younger brother fumble with one of their father's muggle contraptions, rubbing at his forehead with the index and middle finger of his right hand, head slightly bowed as he watched Ron from beneath long lashes.

It really was becoming quite ... distracting. And, he had to admit, he was starting to get worried about the young man. He had seemed jovial enough a few days ago, but now he was on edge, jumping at every little thing; honestly, he was surprised their mother hadn't said anything yet. In fact, it seemed like he was the only one who had noticed anything wrong. Although, with how busy things had been lately, he shouldn't have been all that surprised.

But Ron's foul mood was starting to rub off on him, and even the twins were starting to get a bit irritable; normally, they could just shrug off whatever was bothering the rest of the family; but not this. Did they know the reason? There were only a couple of things that could get Ron riled up -- being overlooked in favor of his numerous siblings, though lately mum had been paying extra attention to him and Ginny, constantly talking about getting things ready for Harry's annual visit. It really was kind of like a celebration: Harry's Coming!

And that was the second thing that could be causing Ron problems. Harry. The other boy was constantly in trouble, and not only at school; his constant brushes with death were testimony to that fact. Brushes with Death Eaters.

Not that that meant anything was wrong; Ron could have just been in a foul mood. They all got in such moods from time to time; even their mother had been known to fall into a foul mood for no apparent reason. And with such a large family -- and almost all of them cramped into Headquarters, along with the random Order members who came and went at a moment's notice -- it was easy to become frustrated, upset. Feel like the walls were closing in.

But Ron wasn't one to wallow in self-pity, to spend long hours agonozing over the little details of his life. He was a brother of action, like Fred and George, Bill and him. Percy and Ginny; they were the thinkers of the family, the ones who could be content sitting by a window and staring into the distance, a good book or a notebook in their hands.

Not so Ron. Ron acted; he didn't think, and often times that had gotten him into more than a bit of trouble, even before he had met Harry. He had always been impulsive, and it was this sudden reticience, thinking and worrying and planning that worried Charlie the most.

When had he stopped caring?

Lucius stared at the tiny portrait of his mother that rested in the palm of his hand. Such a small thing, thrown carelessly into his dresser; one of the few things he had taken from his childhood home all those years ago. He had thought his mother was weak ... but now he was beginning to see another side. Her side.

This was not the life he ever would have imagined for his wife. His son. Never had he imagined he would have two of those .... he had sworn, when he and Narcissa had first gotten married, that never would his son face the pain he had. It had been hard enough the first time around ... hard enough to name his only son after that brother.

Clenching his hand into a fist around the small portrait, Lucius drew in a shaky breath, eyes closed as he fought to regain control of his emotions.

It was a losing battle, and he knew it.

He wanted to scream, to rant, to rave. To let loose his emotions in one violent display, as he had often done as a child. Not once he had gotten into Hogwarts; no. He had learned control by then. But as a young child, he had been prone to violent displays of emotion, and even during the summer hols those displays had sometimes continued. Only in the safety of his family's home, however. Only with Draco.

It was odd, thinking of his brother again after all this time; he had almost gotten used to his son being the only Draco in his life. But that damned painting ... it had brought back so many memories, so many thoughts and feelings he had long since thought buried.

Opening his eyes once again, Lucius took a moment to carefully stow away the miniature portrait into the safety of his pants' pocket, a small sigh escaping his lips as he surveyed the room around him. The house elves had done a good job of packing discreetly; even now, he could barely notice the difference. Old clothes that had been packed away some time ago now adorned the open closet, in place of the clothes one House Elf was occuppied with moving to their new home. The kitchens had barely been touched; it was not so trying, to shop for food in the muggle world. He had done so as a teenager, when his parents would send him out in the family car to do the shopping. True, Narcissa would be appalled by such ... but, then again, she had grown up rather sheltered from the muggle world. He may as well have been raised a muggle, for all the contact he had had with the wizarding world as a child.

He was tired. Not only physically, but mentally, as well. Tired of the lies, tired of the hiding. Tired of worrying about whose side he had chosen, who wanted his head and who he could trust -- to a certain extent. How long had it been since he had trust somebody -- truly and inexplicably trusted them, with out reservations?

'Cissa was different; but even with her, he was guarded in some ways; open in others. Every person saw a different side of him, a different version. Only with his brother had he felt that kind of security, that he could be himself, in all his incarnations.

Ah, but he was dwelling on the past; on a time that would never come again.

Rubbing a hand tiredly across his face, Lucius turned toward the dresser once again. He had wasted enough time here already.

That had been ... too easy.

He had been surprised, at the lack of wards surrounding the house, the lack of security. The lack of resistance to his her sons o closely - having to

Narcissa had been easy enough to circumvent, and he got the vague impression that she was not used to having to worry about him slipping away at the closest oppurtunity.

Of course, there was the fact that he had no idea where he was; and even if he could make his way back to familiar ground, who would recognize him? Who would believe him?

But he had never been the type to sit back and accept his fate - and staying in the home of Lucius Malfoy was certainly a death sentence, if he had ever heard one. He was, after all, the number one target among the Death Eaters.

And Lucius Malfoy was nothing if not a pure-blooded bigot of the worst kind; the kind that flocked to men like Voldemort.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

She was going to kill him when she found him.

Naricssa Malfoy ran her hands through her normally pristine platinum blond hair, closing her eyes for a moment as she drew a deep, calming breath, her head tilted back slightly.

When she opened her eyes again, however, the scene before her had not changed.

An empty room, the bed in disarray, and Harry gone. Gone! Was he completely brainless, that he didn't understand the danger he was in at this very moment? And not only from the Dark Lord! Dumbledore's men would do nothing to protect him; perhaps the man himself would intercede, but he was one of the few who might possibly see him as a child, not an extension of his father.

But no. He had to go running off like some Gryffindor.

He was far too much like her cousin. Hell, both her cousins! But, if anything, he reminded her most of Sirius at this moment - and that wasn't a comforting thought. Sirius had always been rash, prone to fits of anger - and senseless violence.

And Harry seemed to be inheriting more and more from her cousin. Did he remember her cousin? His godfather? The man had been a constant fixture in his life up until his parent's deaths - she had rarely seen him in those days, after his mother had disowned him; the night he had run away had been the night of a rather spectacular battle, or so she had heard.

Yet Harry had put up no battle - simply waited for the oppurtune moment to make his escape. More something his father would do, really. Lucius was not one for battles, confr ontations; if he could get out of it quickly and quietly, that was the path he would choose. The path his son had chosen.

It made her smile, that though.

But not enough to stop her from strangling her son when she found him.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

He really did have no idea where he was.

Running his fingers through platinum blonde hair, Harry sighed heavily as he stared down the road with some consternation. The road had been easy enough to find, though it seemed little used - a country road, most likely.

He hadn't been walking for very long, but already his legs felt about ready to fall off, a burning sensation beginning in his calves and steadily getting worse.

He wanted to stop, to rest for a minute or two - maybe an hour. But he didn't dare. Did they know he was gone yet? How long would it take them to track him?

His wand was gone, confiscated earlier. Which left him with only the muggle means of escaping.

If they knew he was gone, there really was no hope unless Albus Dumbledore himself appeared magically to save him. And that wasn't going--

Oh.

Albus Dumbledore was not having a good day.

First, the news that Harry was not at his relatives house had reached his ear that morning. He had spent the rest of the morning making rather frantic phone calls, only to be informed that the magical signatures of one Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape had been found either just outside the house, or in the case of Lucius Malfoy, actually inside.

He had been ready to strangle Severus, to dismiss all thoughts of allegiences and oaths; there could be no other explanation than that the man had returned to his former master.

The truth had been a hard pill to swallow.

"Severus, you can't actually expect me to believe --"

"Did you really think the Fidelus Charm would be enough for enough for Lily, Albus? Lily? You know how protective she was of that child." Severus Snape did not raise his voice, made no threatening movements. He had no need to; he could see the beginning of acceptance in the eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

The man had never been one to deny the truth, to accept an easy lie. The fact he was fighting it this time spoke of just how desperate he was to maintain the status quo. To believe his precious Harry Potter was the perfect Gryffindor.

"Where is he now?" Albus sounded merely tired now, looked decades older than he had mere moments before.

"With his father." Seeing the confusion on his employer's face, Severus sighed. "With Lucius Malfoy."

"And do you know where Lucius might have hidden the boy away?"

Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his noise and shutting his eyes tightly. "Albus." He finally straightened, eyeing the old"er man somewhat warily. "Albus, you do understand that Lucius knows of the connection, do you not? He knows, as does Narcissa, that young Mr. Potter is his son."

"He is loyal to Tom, Severus. You know that, better than most, I'd wager. He will not just overlook--"

"Albus! Listen to yourself! Potter is the spitting image of Lucius at this point! And his precious Draco? Only a fool would not mistake him for Potter." Severus watched the widening of the aged headmaster's eyes, sighing in relief.

So, he finally understood.

"Leave me, Severus. I must think on this."

Severus simply shook his head, but did as he was asked. The man just couldn't stop scheming, could he? Not even now.

He had been lucky, Harry knew. Anybody else would have instantly mistaken him for Draco Malfoy. But Hermione Granger had never been one to jump to conclusions.

Of course, the fact that he was in the middle of a muggle neighborhood might have had something to do with that.

She stood across from him now, defensive; her arms crossed over her chest, one dark eyebrow raised in question. "What, exactly, are you doing here, Malfoy?"

Okay, perhaps she would assume he was Malfoy. But she wasn't shooting hexes and curses at him.

Yet.

Rational. Keep Hermione Rational. His main goal, as of this moment.

Well, that and getting out of the road.

Unfortunately, if there was one thing that could throw Hermione for a loop, it was Draco Malfoy. The only person he could remember that always made her react quite like this; made her lose her cool, defensive and irritable even she had no reason to be. The ferret had that presence that just got on her nerves, Harry knew. Always had.

And she hated him for it.

Hermione, for her part, seemed unwilling to play games today, as she rolled her eyes and shifted her weight, one dark eyebrow raised in question. "Well, Malfoy?"

Perhaps it was his continued silence that unnerved her the most, or just the fact he hadn't sent any curses - magical or otherwise - her way. After all, Malfoy would have at least insulted her parents by now. Probably her blood and entire family lineage, too.

"It's ... kind of hard to explain, Hermione." Harry almost wanted to smile, to laugh, at the bewildered look on her face at the sound of her first name. She'd probably just deck him, though. "Look, can we get out of the road? I'll explain everything, I promise."

Hermione Granger was in a quandry. On one hand, the last thing she wanted was to give Draco Malfoy access to her parents.

On the second, her rational mind kept reminding her that, while he might have been a prat, Draco Malfoy was a rather harmless prat; a bigot, sure, but he wasn't going to land himself in Azkaban over a bunch of muggles. She knew enough about him, from years of dealing with his bigotry, to know he didn't think they were worth it.

And he looked scared. She'd never seen him like this before - even back in their third year, when she'd decked him out on the grounds for calling her that awful word ... even then, he hadn't looked scared. Not like this.

Damn Harry for infecting her with a streak of heroics. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried, he had still managed to weasel in the notion of protecting and helping people. She would have been very happy to ignore the outside world in favor of her books but no ...

Hermione sighed, running her fingers through bushy brown hair. Now was not the time to start ranting, even in the privacy of her own mind.

"Try anything, and I'll blase you from here to kingdom come." She warned, glaring at the short burst of laughter from the other teen.

As they moved up the road, the blond in front and Hermione following a few paces behind, her hands itched for the cool feel of her wand in her palm - a wand she had left in her bedroom. It's summer, she had thought. It's not like I could use it. Brilliant. Where was all her vaulted intelligence now? Of course she could use it! Only in a life and death situation, true, but it was some measure of protection, at the very least.

As the other teen came to a stop before her door, a small sigh escaping his mouth, Hermione bristled, moving around him and keeping an eye on the blond as she opened her front door.

Her parents weren't home - small consolation. He knew where she lived. When had that happened? And why hadn't she expected it? She was muggleborn, and he hated her and all she stood for ... and had his father's resources to back him up. They should have had a contingency plan for this!