The next few weeks have become very tough for two-thirds of the Golden Trio. Harry became paranoid, watching all the doors as they creaked open in class, the Great Hall, or the Entrance doors. Ron was in a much worse state. He was going through all the emotional stages of a break-up. Yet, he didn’t quite know if this was a break-up. She never left him a note, sent him an owl, or casted a patronis. It was like she dropped off the face of the earth. The week Hermione failed to come back, Ron was in a mixture of shock and denial. “She’s safe. She’ll come back. She hasn’t left.” He mumbled to himself every night that week, as he sat by the fire waiting for her to walk through the portrait of the Gryffindor common room. The week following, Ron began to isolate himself from everything and anyone. The only thing that remained the same was when he entered the Great Hall, proving that even a depressed man had to eat. That week the only mobilized movements he made were the lengthy arm movements of shoving every kind of food in his mouth.
In the same week, that Thursday, Ronald Bilius Weasley snapped. “BLOODY HELL!” He yelled as the Great Hall silenced itself. The other students have been expecting this all week, now they wanted to see what he would do.
“Ron, please calm down. You’re making a scene.” Pleaded Ginny, who was simultaneously trying to comfort her boyfriend, Harry, who just began to hyperventilate.
“I WILL NOT CALM DOWN. WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE? WHO THE FUCK DOES SHE THINK SHE IS?!” He bellowed, his anger controlling his every action and every word.
“RON!” yelled Ginny. She too was beginning to form tears in her eyes. She didn’t want to see her brother go through this, and she was scared for her missing friend.
“I’M SICK OF THIS. I’M DONE.” Ron stated as he slammed his silverware down, lunged his bag over his shoulder and slammed the doors after him. The Great Hall remained silent as sympathy ran through everyone’s veins. Harry began to break down and gasp for air, his tears already gone from the previous sleepless nights. His girlfriend began to soothe him, her hands making small circles in his back. Ginny began to cry on her boyfriend’s shoulder. Where could Hermione be?
Ron stormed down the corridors, knocking absolutely everything out of his path. The debris he left was a mixture of students, clutter, and ancient armor. “Ronald, please calm down.” A pale hand set on his shoulder as he halted. He turned around. Blue eyes met blue and Ron grabbed her into a forceful kiss.
On the other side of the grounds, Draco Malfoy was having a hard time of his own. The Slytherin house did not take well that their leader’s attitude was more furious than normal. As Draco paced in front of the roaring fire, the first and third years that just entered the common room fled towards their dorms, in fear of facing the wrath of the Malfoy heir. ‘Where the hell is he?’ Draco thought, even his conscience had an anger problem. Draco did not have the emotional expanse to be scared or worried for his best mate. Heck, he didn’t exactly know how to feel that way. So, he opted for the only thing he knew how to feel. Anger.
Well, that is what everyone else thought. In all reality, Draco did have a slightly courteous side. He was deeply paranoid with the possibilities that could happen to his best friend. During the war, the Zabini family tried to stay neutral, but being that they were wealthy purebloods, no one could get out of the grasp of the Dark Lord. Blaise did everything he could do to stand by the side of Draco, knowing he was the only one who kept the young Malfoy sane. Draco couldn’t thank him enough for that. But now that Blaise was missing, the worst possibilities were coming to mind. What if another deatheater found out the real actions he did on missions for the Dark Lord? They didn’t exactly follow orders. What if Ministry officials arrested the Zabinis, although both their families were stated not guilty in their post-war trials? Where they attacked? If he had lost his only reliable friend, Draco wouldn’t have anyone left. The blonde didn’t know what to expect. However, he needed to keep up his image and stay head of Slytherin, so he masked his fears with anger. Abruptly turning, the young blonde stalked across the room. Grabbing a piece of parchment and a quill, Draco wrote a terse letter and sent it with his eagle owl. Sadly, he was expecting his owl to return within the night, letter still attached to its foot, unable to find Blaise or his parents. Closing the window his owl left from, Draco threw a bottle of ink into the fire, watching it burst into toxic flames. ‘Damn it.’ He thought. Where could he be?