Ron stopped at the door, staring at the number. This couldn't be the place. There was no way he could be right. This was an old, broken apartment house; nowhere near the grandeur and riches he knew Harry had. Why on earth was Harry here? He leaned forward and inspected the plaques underneath the buzzer buttons. There, underneath a scratched and worn piece of plastic was the name Potter. He pushed the button, and in a second a voice, hoarse and tired sounding, answered the bell. "Yeah?"

"Harry? Are you there?" A bitter chuckle floated down through the speaker, then an answer, "Mostly. Who's this?" Ron swallowed the lump that rose in his throat, and said, "It's Ron." There was a pause, then Harry's voice came back, angry, "How the hell did you find this address?"

"Don't be mad, Harry. I've been looking for you for months now." He let out a slight laugh and added, "You're bloody hard to find." Harry shot back, his voice shaking with anger on the intercom, "That was the idea." Ron waited a second, and when Harry didn't say anything else, he asked," Can I come up? I need to talk to you." Harry waited a second, thinking it over, then snapped, "Fine. Come on up," and a buzzer sounded as the door unlocked.

Ron walked up the stairs and made his way down the hall, counting off the door numbers until he found 14. The door was cracked open, and the sound of a television set came through to the hall. He pushed the door the rest of the way open and walked into chaos.

Clothing and dishes were piled haphazardly on the furniture, and several ashtrays set about the room were filled and overflowing. Harry was sitting on an old and faded chair in front of the set, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, the smoke climbing up towards the ceiling "Since when do you smoke?" he asked. Harry looked up at him, and Ron almost took a step back. His face was thin and pinched, with huge dark circles under dull green eyes. His hair was cut short, and stuck up haphazardly, making it look like he had just rolled out of bed, even though he'd obviously not gotten any sleep lately. The infamous scar stood out on his forehead, he didn't bother hiding it anymore. Another scar marred his forearm, long and thin across his skin. A pair of dirty jeans hung on him, and an old black t-shirt, faded and slightly shrunken, had been thrown on. His feet were bare, and propped up on each other on the floor while he sat in the chair.

Harry leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out. Despite the squalor he was surrounded by and his unkempt appearance there was an air about him. A way of moving that gave away the years he'd spent as a professional sky-dancer, one of the most difficult and physically taxing jobs in the wizarding world, only the best flyers got in. The way he held his cigarette, the way his arm rested perfectly on the arm of the chair, showed the grace he'd acquired from feeling more at home in the air than on the ground. Harry looked worn-down and tired, almost exhausted, but he was obviously on edge. An image came to Ron's mind of a man on a knife-edge. One wrong move and he could split, but he managed to balance perfectly. This was Harry.

Ron sat on a half-empty chair and looked down at his hands. "So," he asked them, "Since when do you smoke?" A low, bitter chuckle came from the chair, and he saw ash go floating to the floor from the cigarette. Harry took a drag, and let the smoke out as he answered, "Since I decided it's better to have something to do that doesn't involve hurting someone." Ron looked up in confusion, and Harry smirked. "Which would you rather have me do," he explained, " Punch out a guy for harassing me in a bar, or step outside for a smoke to calm me down?" Ron shook his head. "Why are you in a bar?" Harry smiled up at him and said, "To keep me from smoking." Ron turned towards him, "Harry, be serious. Those places are dangerous, you know that. Why are you going there?" Harry leaned back, putting his hands behind his head, his cigarette dangling in his lips, a slow trail of smoke circling up to play in his hair before moving on towards the ceiling. "Relax, Ron, I can handle myself. I'm 'The Boy Who Lived,' remember? The great Harry Potter. I took on Voldermort at 18, you think I can't handle some half-drunk idiot?" Ron stood up and paced a few feet before turning back to say, "You've changed, Harry. A lot. But I'm still willing to make you an offer, and I think you'll want to take it."

Harry turned and looked at him. "What kind of offer?" Ron crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. "The ministry wants you back. They're having some… difficulties. They think you could help, a lot actually." Harry stood up and crossed his own arms. "What do I have to do? There's got to be some kind of catch." It was Ron's turn to smirk. "No, I was told to just tell you the basic information. That's all you have to know. Come and work for the ministry. You get your own place, and all the things you'd need for the job." Harry shook his head and scratched his neck, peering at Ron through the short bangs that hung over his forehead. He took another pull on the cigarette, then ground it out on a near bye tabletop. "You sound like some character on TV; all cryptic and mysterious. It's bull. You're not that full of yourself to actually take it so seriously. Now tell me what's up." Ron just shook his head and smirked again. "No, I've said what I have to say. You get to choose now. No more details. If you say yes, you come with me and I take you to your new place. No, and I leave you as curious as you'll ever be, but you'll never know what it was. Now, what's your decision?"

Harry looked at Ron, studied him, his arms crossed again. They stood staring at each other, mirror poses, opposite men. Finally Harry grinned and said, "Ok, you win, Morpheous." Ron blinked at him. "What?" He just grinned again. "Never mind, it's a Muggle reference. Give me a second, I need to grab some things." Ron nodded, and a minute later Harry came back with a bag slung across his back, an old, broken-in leather jacket, and a pair of sneakers on. "Let's get out of here." As he led the way down the stairs, Ron asked, "Won't your landlord wonder where you went?" Harry shook his head and let out a bark of laughter. "Hell no. He doesn't care what happens around here, as long as the rent gets paid. One of the reasons I chose this place. I left another month's rent in the apartment, just in case I come back. He won't bother to look around." They reached the street and a dark green car rolled up from a spot that had been empty just a second ago. Harry climbed in and waited as Ron got in on the other side. He turned and said, "Ok, here's where you say something like 'I'm about to show you down the rabbit hole, Neo. Are you ready?' " Ron stared at him, confusion plastered across his face. Harry laughed and assured him, "I'm just messing with you. You need to see some movies, you know that?"