Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. There is also quite a lot of her work in here, though it is from Ron's perspective rather than Harry's.
Summary: What exactly was going through Ron's head when he, Fred and George had rescued Harry from the Dursleys in second year? And why does he think that he saw whip lashes one night, but completely healed the next? R&R please.
Warning(s): Neglect, insinuated child abuse
"I still don't understand," Ron said for what felt the billionth time that week. "You said ages ago you were going to get in contact with Harry! He hasn't returned any of my owls, and even Hermione can't get a hold of him. It's not fair," Ron complained to his mother one morning at the breakfast table.
"That's enough Ron, your father has been extremely busy – especially with Harry getting that official letter for doing magic -"
"Yeah, yeah," Ron mumbled, scooping up a plateful of eggs. "I still don't see –"
"RONALD!"
This shut Ron up. He'd never exactly been punished by his mother or father, but the look on his mother's face was enough to scare anyone into a panic. He quickly looked back down at his plate. He'd demolished most of it already, but he was (very oddly) not feeling too hungry. His worry for Harry was quickly changing into something else; what if Harry didn't want to write to him?
If it had not been for the fact that Ron had heard Harry complain often enough about the Dursleys, and Ron had seen them up-close for himself, he might have fooled himself into believing it.
He hadn't noticed that Fred and George kept throwing him looks throughout breakfast until Ginny brought it up later that afternoon. "You know, I think they might be planning something," she warned him, and Ron had an odd sensation in his stomach. The last thing he needed right now was his brothers' pranks, his worry for his friend was practically driving him insane.
He'd made up his mind – he was going to confront Fred and George before they could even think about plotting his eventual murder with a firework or some other worthless thing –
"Ronnie," Ron jumped a mile as he heard George's voice in his ear. He scowled, not having even notice they had close-lined him. He whipped around, his ears turning bright red. "Fred, George, I'll do your chores for a week, just don't think about doing anything to me –" Ron started, but George cut him off.
"What kind of brothers do you think we are?" he said in a mock-horror voice, Fred had an equal expression on his face. Ron scowled at the two of them. "You know exactly what kind of brothers I think you are."
"Well then," said George offhandedly. "We were going to offer you help to get Harry, but if you don't want to –"
"Get Harry?" Ron said in a rather loud voice that had both Fred and George shushing him.
"Mom can't know," Fred said, his voice actually serious for once.
"How in Merlin's name do you plan on getting there?" asked Ron, his eyes wide with both excitement and dread.
"Dad's car, the one he took from the Ministry to 'fix up'," George said, a smirk on his face. "We're going to fly it to Surrey."
"Do you even know where he lives?"
Fred and George both looked at him as though he'd grown an extra head. "Let me think," Fred started.
"It's on the tip of my tongue," said George seriously.
"I think it was mentioned a couple times –"
"Of every minute –"
"Of every day!"
Ron scowled at the both of them. "Well I can't just leave Harry with the Dursleys. You don't know what they're like! Granted I don't really know either, but it's hardly fair to say that he enjoys their company," said Ron. "He'd be much better off with us."
"We agree," said both Fred and George. "So are you in?"
"Am I?" Ron couldn't help but to grin. "Count me in."
"We'll have to do it tonight, when Mum and Dad fall asleep," said Fred, glancing around the room as though making sure that nobody could hear them.
Ron blinked. "Why?"
His brothers looked as though they could slap him. "Because they won't let us leave, you dolt!"
"Oh, right," Ron smiled rather sheepishly, knowing that he'd been acting foolhardy. "So tonight, we'll meet outside. Deal?"
Fred and George grinned. "Deal."
It didn't take much convincing from Ron to sleep on the couch that night. He had been complaining to his mother about how the ghoul wouldn't let him sleep, and he wanted at least one nights' good rest.
His mum had reluctantly agreed, though she said that he should not be expecting this luxury all the time.
It was now about 11 o'clock, and his mum and dad had just gone up to bed. Ron lay awake, unable to close his eyes at the excitement of seeing his friend again – and the dread of what would happen if he saw him. What if Harry wasn't okay, or if he actually was ignoring Ron?
Trying to banish these thoughts, Ron felt his heart leap to his throat when he heard a creak in the stairs. Expecting his parents or some other unwelcome relative, Ron fake-snored, hoping it was realistic.
"Ron, get up you great prat!"
Ron almost fell off the couch. "When are we leaving?"
"About ten minutes," said Fred.
"We need to make sure mum is actually asleep," added George. Ron took a deep breath and nodded. He couldn't explain all of the feelings he had right now, and he wasn't about to try analyzing all of them. All he knew was that they were making his heart thud painfully against his chest.
The ten minutes seemed to pass by slower than ten minutes normally passes. Both Ron and George were pacing, while Fred had reclined on the couch, looking very bored and very anxious. He glanced up at the clock, "I think it's time," he whispered.
Ron and George stopped their pacing, and in no time they had all raced outside to where the car was.
"Do you even know how to drive?" asked Ron as soon as they all piled in the car. His brother's exchanged looks, but didn't answer him. This troubled Ron more than it should have.
It was excitement more than anything that managed to keep Ron awake the whole time. The ride to Little Whinging seemed torturous, but definitely worth the trouble. It was dark out, so none of them bothered turning on the invisibility cloaking for the car.
"Erm, I think it's that one," said Ron, pointing at a random house. They all looked exactly the same. "No, no, that's Number 13. You said it was Number 4."
Ron frowned, "Yeah I did."
"There's Number Four – blimey, you don't think that's Harry's room, do you?"
Ron felt his heart drop to his stomach as he saw the bars over the window. Somehow, he knew that this was Harry's room. "I think it is," he said, sounding miserable. Then his spirits lifted, "This means he wasn't ignoring me!"
Fred and George glared at him, "Ron, I knew you were tactless, but I thought you'd care if your best friend had bars on his window."
Ron felt his ears turn red and he mumbled something under his breath in embarrassment. "Let me drive," Ron said suddenly. George grinned at him, "trying to act big and brave for your friend?"
"Shut it," Ron said as they both chuckled. Fred, who had been driving, allowed Ron to take the wheel. Their solemn mood returned as Ron parked the car outside of Harry's window.
Once they saw him, time seemed to stop. He could see someone in the bed clearly; someone with messy black hair and a lightning scar on his forehead . . . but still, Ron refused to believe this was his friend. He could hear Fred gasp behind him, and George's heavy breathing.
This boy, already small in stature, was lying restlessly in his bed. He tossed and turned, and Ron could see that the boy had opened brilliant green eyes (okay, this had to be Harry) which were glazed over to look at them a couple of times, but there seemed to be no recognition in his eyes. He continued to toss and turn, looking very uncomfortable in the process.
If it hadn't been for the thrashing, Ron could have mistaken him for a dead body. He was extremely pale, despite the hot summer, and Ron was sure he could count his ribcage through his flimsy and overlarge shirt. Not knowing what else to do, Ron tapped on the glass through the bars.
When this didn't seem to work, Ron rattled the bars. "Stop it," he heard Harry murmur, but he didn't stop. He had to get Harry out of here. "Leave me alone. . . cut it out . . . I'm trying to sleep . . ."
He heard Fred and George snigger behind him, but he paid them no mind. They always laughed and acted happy when they were too worried or scared to do anything else. Anything, even Harry telling them to shut up, would make them snicker a bit.
He saw Harry open his eyes again, but this time his eyes widened in recognition. He jumped up from the bed, and stared at Ron as though he'd never seen anything quite like him.
"Ron!" breathed Harry, practically gliding towards the window but looking scared at the same time, as though he couldn't believe this was happening. Harry pushed the window open with a surprising force for how thin he looked.
"Ron – how did you – what the –?"
He watched as Harry's mouth fell open, suddenly taking in the appearance of a floating car. Ron had to remind himself that Harry was still not very used to magic.
Fred and George climbed over him, forcing Ron into the backseat. If anything, this only gave Ron a better view of his friend. It seemed even worse close up. There was no mistaking that Harry'd definitely been starved. He hadn't realized just how bad the Dursleys were until now.
Fred and George were grinning at Harry as though flying a car through midair to rescue a starved child through bars was a daily occurrence that they'd gotten quite used to.
"All right, Harry?" asked George. Ron almost snorted, but he was more worried about his friend.
"What's been going on?" he demanded, even though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. "Why haven't you been answering my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of muggles –"
"It wasn't me – and how did he know?"
"He works for the Ministry," said Ron impatiently, wondering why on earth his best friend would use magic. "And you know we're not supposed to do magic outside school –"
"You should talk," said Harry, who was staring at the floating car.
"Oh, this doesn't count," said Ron as though it were nothing. "We're borrowing this. It's dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those muggles that you live with –" Ron, in his desperation for Harry not getting expelled, was completely ignoring the state that his friend was in, and that maybe he had been forced to use magic.
"I told you, I didn't do it – but it'll take too long to explain now – look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won't let me come back, and obviously I can't magic myself out, because the Ministry would think that's the second spell I've done in three days –"
Ron decided that he needed to stop Harry's rambling there. His poor friend looked so pleading it pained Ron.
"Stop gibbering. We've come to take you home with us."
"But you can't use magic either –" at this, Ron grinned.
"We don't have to. You forget who I'm with," he said, nodding his head to the front seat where Fred and George were.
"Tie that around the bars," said Fred, pulling out a rope from the glove compartment and throwing it at Harry through the open window.
"If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," said Harry, though he tied the bars anyway. Ron suppressed a gulp; looking at his friend now, he wouldn't doubt that the Dursleys would kill him. Almost at the same moment Fred revved up the engine, and Ron prepared himself for what was about to come.
"Don't worry," said Fred, obviously thinking along the same lines as Ron. "And stand back," he added as an afterthought. Harry hurried to do so straight away, next to a shadowy figure of what Ron guessed was Hedwig. With a mighty roar from the engine, Fred pulled the car up as far as he could in the air. Ron could hear a crunching sound from behind him as the bars crumpled. Fred, sensing the danger if the bars fell, zoomed straight back towards the window. Ron, panting with the exertion, pulled the bars and put them safely next to him in the backseat.
"Get in," said Ron, as soon as Fred pulled as close as he could towards the window again.
"But all my Hogwarts stuff – my wand – my broomstick –"
"Where is it?"
"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can't get out of this room –"
Ron tried to look passive at this, though there was a mound of anger building in his stomach.
"No problem," said George from the passenger seat, and both of Ron's brothers hopped from the car into Harry's room – giving Harry a fair warning first. Ron watched carefully as George picked out a hair pick and started fiddling with the lock on Harry's door.
"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time – knowing this muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow."
Ron dimly heard a click and the door swung open. George whispered something to Harry that Ron couldn't catch, but he heard his name and automatically grew more alert. What exactly was going on?
Harry whispered something back, before dashing around his small bedroom, grabbing things and passing them out of the window to a disgruntled Ron. Harry tiptoed out of his room and Ron wondered what was happening when he heard a cough from the room next to Harry's. His eyes widened – if his uncle woke up . . .
A few seconds later all three of them walked into the room, panting, and dragging what Ron figured was Harry's trunk. Without a word Fred raced into the car and held out his hands, Ron doing the same thing as he realized what was going on. George and Harry stayed in the room and pushed the trunk, while Fred and Ron pulled it in. What in Merlin's name did Harry put in this thing? It was so heavy! Then again, so was his, so he wasn't one to talk . . .
"A bit more," Fred whispered to them, "One good push –"
It was through. Ron let out a relieved sigh and heaved it next to him. George climbed in, with Harry following. At the same time there was an obnoxiously loud screech from Hedwig.
Harry's eyes widened with understandably uncontrolled fear, which seemed to engulf all three of them as they heard a thundering voice, worse than even their mum's, yell "THAT RUDDY OWL!"
"I've forgotten Hedwig!" Harry gasped, jumping back down from the windowsill and grabbing Hedwig's cage. Ron had to admire how fast Harry could move, then he remembered why that was. Harry shoved Hedwig's cage at Ron, who put it with the rest of the stuff. Harry was trying to scrambled back onto the desk to get out of the window, Come on Harry, Ron silently begged as they heard footsteps pounding towards Harry's room. For a moment there was a crashing sound as Harry's uncle pounded on the door, and then it was thrown open.
Harry froze.
So did his uncle.
Ron was about to launch himself at Harry if he didn't move soon – but there was no need. Harry had already regained his senses and scrambled onto the windowsill. Ron could see in Harry's eyes both fear and relief.
It was short-lived.
Ron was surprised by how quickly Harry's abnormally large and mean-looking muggle uncle could move when he was angry and determined. Harry jumped into the car, but there was a loud angry yell and before Harry could get all the way in, Ron saw his uncle's hand shoot out and grab Harry's ankle. Even Fred and George looked scared as they all tried pulling Harry away from his uncle's fierce grip.
"Petunia!" his uncle bellowed. "He's getting away! HE'S GETTING AWAY!"
Ron could have murdered them all then and there. There would have been no need for him to be 'getting away' if they had treated him properly – which made Ron wonder why on earth they were treating Harry like this.
After the last bellow, Ron, Fred, and George tugged as hard as they could on Harry without hurting him. The whole car seemed to wallow in relief as Harry was freed of his uncle's grip. He pulled himself fully into the car, shut the door – and Ron couldn't help but to grin at the elation on his friend's face that he had finally escaped the Dursleys.
Uncle Vernon didn't look like he was about to back down without a fight. He apparently really wanted Harry for some reason or another. He looked as though he were going to jump on the car itself, which made Ron extremely paranoid. "Put your foot down Fred!" he yelled, and they were suddenly shooting away from the Dursleys towards the night sky.
The elation had come back to Harry's face, and Ron watched as he rolled down the window and turned back to look at the Dursleys.
"See you next summer!" he called, and all of them roared with laughter.
To say Ron was terrified of going home would be an understatement. He knew that Harry had it bad – definitely worse – but Ron lived in terror of his mother's wrath. Which was the first thing he saw when he arrived at the Burrow, his home.
"Ah," was all Fred could get out as their mother stalked towards them, looking like a saber-toothed tiger compared to her normally kind features. "Oh dear," said George, trying not to look scared. Ron could see his hands shaking though.
Their mother stopped just short of them and stared at them all. Ron knew that he looked as guilty as he felt. He felt Harry stiffen next to him, and he glanced over to see a slightly terrified and also guilty face. Ron could have laughed – Harry had nothing to be guilty for. "So," his mother glared at them.
"Morning mum," said George in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.
"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" it came out as a harsh whisper, which made Ron even more scared then he had been before. In fact, he was almost positive he'd need a new change of pants when he got inside.
"Sorry, Mum – but see – we had to –"
Even Fred and George cowered as their mother yelled at the top of her lungs. "Beds empty! No note! Car gone – could have crashed – out of my mind with worry – did you care? – never as long as I've lived – you wait until your father gets home, we've never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy –"
"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred, and though Ron agreed with him, he was right in assuming it was the wrong thing to say.
"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" yelled Ron's mum, poking Fred hard in the chest. "You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job -"
Ron felt as though his mother was shouting at them for hours. He was right in assuming that they'd all be guilty, but he couldn't leave Harry there with his so called 'relatives'.
Finally, finally, his mum turned away from them. She set her sights on Harry, who Ron was unsurprised to see, had taken a huge step back. Whether this was because he was worried he'd get yelled at too, or because it brought back bad memories from the Dursleys, Ron had no clue.
"I'm very pleased to see you, Harry dear," said his mum in a much kinder voice then she had used with her sons. Ron felt a stir of jealousy which he quickly tried to squash down. He had to keep reminding himself that Harry had it worse in the muggle world.
Harry threw a nervous glance at Ron, who nodded at him encouragingly. His mum wasn't mad at Harry, and if she wasn't mad at Harry then he had nothing to worry about except probably getting demolished with affection.
As they went to sleep that night, Ron was still worried about what Harry thought of his house. Harry had said he loved it, and he sure acted like he did, but he couldn't imagine the thought of anybody but his family living here and being happy with it. Ron had already changed into his pajamas, and had found some that fit Harry's smaller frame than the ones the Dursleys had given him.
Harry had been overly joyful about this, which was not lost on Ron. It was the same expression Harry had had on his face last Christmas when he discovered he had presents. Ron had been completely right in assuming that Harry wasn't treated like he should be at his home – the Dursleys home.
When Harry walked back in from getting changed, Ron tried not to look like he was staring. Then again, what could he have expected from someone half-starved? Maybe more than half.
There was something nagging in Ron's chest though, and he couldn't quite figure out what. That was when he saw it.
Harry had moved the covers on his makeshift bed so that he could lie down, inadvertently lifting up his shirt slightly. Ron could get past the thinness, but that was only because he was looking at something much worse than that.
There were marks on his back that looked as though he'd been flayed not long ago. The weird thing was that though they looked fresh – maybe a couple days old – it looked like it was starting to heal all ready. Ron wasn't sure how muggle whipping worked, and he doubted it was even legal to flay a child, but he didn't think that something so fresh and horrible looking should be almost healing.
Ron fell asleep with uneasy dreams about his friend and living with the Dursleys. The lined, puffy red and slightly green marks on his friend's back stood out vividly in his mind whenever he closed his eyes. That was an image he knew he would never forget. Ever.
He woke up rather early the next day, but he was surprised to see that Harry had woken up even earlier. He was lifting his pajama shirt off, and Ron braced himself to see the whole of Harry's back.
There was not a mark in sight. It was slightly pink, but that was it.
Ron blinked in confusion – he knew what he'd seen last night. The marks had been there, and . . . he even looked a bit more plump than he had last night. He was still extremely skinny, but he didn't look like a corpse walking as he had only hours ago. Ron didn't know of any spells that could do that, and then he remembered something that Harry had told him before:
"I didn't even know it was accidental magic, I had no clue what it was," Harry had said, chuckling slightly at his ignorance, "when I was nine my aunt shaved off all of my hair, except for my bangs. The next day, I woke up and my hair was even worse than it had been before."
Harry had healed himself without even knowing it, or if he was aware, he didn't look as though he'd admit it to even himself. This both worried Ron more and relieved him at the same time. Harry could heal himself without knowing from muggle-inflicted wounds, but was it the same for magic wounds? And more importantly, how many times had Harry healed himself before, without Ron or Hermione noticing. How many times had Harry brought up about how he had been bullied? Only once, but from what Ron gathered, it should have been a horrible outcome for Harry. Five on one was unheard of from Ron's perspective – who thought two on one was horrid. How quickly had Harry healed himself then? It would make sense that his teachers wouldn't notice, as Harry quickly assured him that he was fine.
He hadn't been fine at first, but then he got better. Harry didn't even know this was happening to him. He probably thought it was normal for a wizard. Ron knew that bringing it up would only make things worse for his friend, who would close off at the mention of living with the Dursleys.
There was a more relieving thought though: if Harry could heal himself or make himself better, than he was sure to walk out of more situations unscathed. Maybe it took sleep for him to heal, which would explain how much he had been tossing and turning when him, Fred and George had found him.
Maybe . . .
Just maybe . . .
In a few years, Ron would wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing. He had dreams about how vivid the whip lashes were sometimes, but when he woke up and saw Harry, he wasn't sure if it was true or not. He knew what he saw . . . yet did he really see what he thought he saw?
Fin