Harry had a plan.

It wasn’t a very good plan, but it was a plan nonetheless.

He had been thinking about Sev’s story and Ron’s story and figured there was a link between those stories, somewhere. He just had to find it.

Sev had lost his son. Ron had, according to the story, been separated from his parents. It looked as if Ron was Sev’s son. But Sev’s son had been nearly two years old when he’d gone missing. That would mean Ron would have to be the same age as the twins. And that couldn’t be right.

Or could it? He turned a corner without looking, lost in his thoughts. Ron had always been taller than anyone in their year. Even Dean Thomas, who had shot up over the summer and was nearly as tall as Snape himself, wasn’t as tall as Ron was. And Ron was doing the shaving charm regularly, when most of their year were still counting their strands. Except Millicent Bulstrode, but that was a separate case.

He was just turning another bend when he smashed into someone.

“Ouch!”

“Serves you right Potter.” Draco glared at him from the floor, a notebook strewn next to him. “Now my head hurts.”

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“Clearly it’s a hazard to our health, so stop.”

Harry glared for a moment, before deciding that it wasn’t worth it. “Here.” He offered the blonde boy a hand up, a tiny little pleased surge flowing through him when Draco actually gripped his hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. “What’s with the book?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Draco said snottily even as he draped a companionable arm over Harry’s shoulder.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” harry chirped, then grinned at the glare Draco shot him.

“Your impertinence is unflattering, Snape.” Harry’s grin stretched wider, before shrinking altogether. Draco noticed, and sighed.  “I’ve been thinking about that as well.”

“I have an idea….it’s as far-fetched as it is reasonable, considering we all have magic, but do you want to hear it?”

“Let’s find somewhere more private Potter, lest the whole castle be privy to our plots.”

“K. There’s a room on the seventh floor that’d be perfect.”

Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I am not confident in what a Gryffindor believes to be ‘perfect’ but lead the way, let’s see what we have to work with.”

Harry gave Draco a smug look. “I can bet you its perfect.”

Draco scoffed. “Sure, rub your endless supply of money in my face; I knew you’ve wanted to.”

Harry’s face fell. “No! That’s not what I mean at all!”

Draco snorted, and threw an arm around the shorter boy’s shoulders. “Relax, Harry. I was kidding. No hard feelings, I promise.”

Harry worried his bottom lip, gazing speculatively at the taller boy. Draco rolled his eyes, and pulled him along.

“Snape, I mean it. I don’t want your money, or resent you for having it. Whatever mad little plot you’re thinking up in your head, stop it. Stop it or I’ll sic Sev’s butterflies on you.”

Harry’s face creased over in confusion. “Sev has butterflies?”

“I didn’t think he’d be a butterfly person, but if he has you should stay away from them.”

Harry and Draco spun, the latter clutching his chest, to find Ron standing in the hallway behind them, the door to a classroom swinging shut slowly. “Though, I’m just guessing, of course. His butterflies could be perfectly reasonable,” Ron continued.

Darco’s eyes narrowed. “What were you doing in that classroom?”

“Studying.” Ron shifted, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes. Draco smirked, and Harry wondered at that. Ron looked pretty composed, though his ears were a little red, now that he thought to look for it.

“Studying what exactly?” Draco asked, sidling forward along the wall. Ron took two steps to his left and blocked the way.

“Transfiguration, if you must know.” But Ron couldn’t meet Draco’s eyes, and the blonde boy grinned.

“You should be ashamed of yourself Ronald! Human transfiguration is strictly prohibited, you know that. If Hermione wanted to test her non-verbal engorgement charms –"

“Shut it, you prat!” Ron had gone a bright red, even as he locked Draco in a headlock. Draco cackled madly from where he fought to free himself, and Harry watched it all with an amused expression.

“Alright, alright, get off me, you big brute!” Ron released him, and Draco stumbled a few feet away, still giggling. “You can tell Hermione to come out now. There’s no need for the ruse, we know what you two were doing.”

“What? What were they doing?”

Two pairs of eyes turned to harry, who looked back at them with an expression of such earnest confusion they didn’t need to ask if he was serious. Ron and Draco looked at each other miserably before shrugging.

“We need to go somewhere private for this discussion,” Draco finally said into the silence. He shot a glare at Ron and narrowed his eyes. “Both discussions.”

Ron sighed, and nodded. “Alright. Seventh floor corridor, then. Follow me.”

“What is with you Gryffindors and this seventh floor?”

Ron and Harry shared a smug grin and led the way.

Behind them, A slim, bushy haired prefect slipped out of a classroom, her hands folded over her chest, disapproval and suspicion written on every line of her face.

When the boys had moved a suitable distance away, Hermione Granger followed them up.

Three floors below and a little to the right, a small first year whimpered and stifled a sob with his bloody hands. His vision tunneled, flickering in and out once, twice and finally fading to black completely as he slumped against a suit of armor. The tall brunette standing over him flexed his fingers, then turned and left the hallway.

Little Brendan Ackles didn’t get up.