Title: Catching the Fallen

Rating: PG-13

By: Casserole and Pie

Disclaimer: No we do not own Harry, we do not own Draco, we do not own Ron, we do not own Hermione, we do not own Voldemort, we do not own Anything, except for maybe our word processors. And since we would like to go to college some day maybe you could not sue us?

One

Meeting

It's choice - not chance - that determines your destiny.

Jean Nidetch

The boy in the rain stood there for a minute, looking out over the street to the closed shops on the other side. Then he walked to his own car. He pulled out his keys and climbed in, flicking the windshield wipers on to usher the rain away from his line of sight, like little teacups trying to turn the tide they struggled against the rain which increased as he drove further. It was getting darker as the world turned toward evening and with the skies so over hung with clouds it might have been night in that rainy city.

It was at least seven by the time he pulled up in front of an apartment building. He turned off the radio, which he had only bothered to flick on to assuage the oppressive silence. It was playing off-station fuzz. He hadn't bothered to tune it. Sound was sometimes all he needed these days. The old elevator took him solitarily up to his floor; it didn't even bother to ping for him. He had known it had been broken, but it only convinced him of the invisibility he had been feeling.

His apartment was 203, his keys reemerged and he let himself into the quiet dark. He made his way through it to the kitchen where he flipped on the light. It buzzed into sharp electricity, piercing his eyes. The little light that told him he had messages was not blinking on the phone, it hadn't in weeks. He opened the refrigerator and reached to the back for his left over take out. He had picked it up at lunch, the girl behind the counter had smiled at him and asked how he was, hoped that he would have a nice day. It was part of her job, he was sure, but it still felt good to hear someone say "How are you today?" even if they didn't bother to listen to the answer.

His friends hadn't bothered to do that in a while. He wondered if he really knew them any more. It made his heart ache. He had been so close with them. Then they had all left school, moved on, and met new people. He was the only one who seemed unable to find himself someone, anyone, to care about him. And they didn't appear to need him anymore. Even when he showed up they didn't care. No one had noticed at the funeral today even though he had been there. He hadn't had the time to make it close enough to offer comfort. But they didn't need him any ways. They all had each other. He was the odd one out, the fourth wheel to the little threesome. He felt himself getting angry, he always did. His friends had abandoned him and in his place, in a way, was that twerp. But maybe that was the way they had always wanted it, maybe they had just been waiting to get out of school so they could ditch him. Maybe… He had to stop thinking, it hurt too much.

The microwave pinged; telling him the food was warm and ready. But he wasn't, he continued staring out the window, though all he could see was his reflection in the glass, pale skin and dark holes for eyes, lank red hair, still wet sticking to his neck and dividing into little locks. He flicked off one of the lights so his reflection faded to just the faintest hint of a ghost, just the way he felt. He pulled open the microwave and put the food on the table, watching it steam, tendrils curling up to engulf him, smothering him in their smell, making him feel warm for the first time that rainy afternoon. Then the doorbell rang.

He walked to the door, looking out the peephole, but he couldn't see anyone. He opened the door and looked to the left, no one. He looked to the right, and found himself face to face with a young man of about 15 years holding a pizza box. The boy smiled.

"Nice night, huh?" the kid said, making small talk.

"A bit rainy and dreary, but nice." He agreed.

"Never a better time for pizza." The kid smiled.

"Yeah, I should have thought of that." He nodded to the kid. The kid got an annoyed look.

"You mean you didn't order this?" he frowned a little, concentrating on reading the name on his sheet. "Your not, Leo Flynn?"

"Nope." The man shook his head, "I'm Ron Weasley." he smiled a little, "You must have the wrong address. I think Leo's two over."

"Oh, thanks. You could have told me earlier! What a waste of time. I'm on a schedule you know!" the boy spun on his heel and stalked off down the corridor. Ron watched him go till the boy turned the corner. Then he sighed and relocked the door, going back to his own, now cold, dinner.

Ron contemplated the dinner a bit. But he decided he really wasn't hungry. And the takeout was now cold. He walked over to the phone, thinking of calling his best friend, or the person who that had once been. He flipped through his book of phone numbers. Only an eighth full, but the number for the new house was towards the back, he hadn't memorized it yet. He scanned the pages till he found it:

Harry Potter & Draco Malfoy

1178 E Blackwell Ave.

781-9732

He picked up the phone and dialed it in, a message machine picked up "Hello you've reached the home of Harry and Draco, we're ou-" he hung up. They never picked up. It was Harry's process of screening telemarketers. Telemarketers all hung up, like Ron just did, before the message bit. Ron however thought that it might be nice once to actually be able to talk to another human being who appreciated him. Sometimes he felt that if anybody took notice of him, he would be their friend. He thought about calling his other best friend, Hermione. But the funeral he had just attended had been her parents. She probably would want to talk to anyone at the moment. He wasn't even sure if she was at home. He paced around his living room, trying to keep from sinking into the depression he felt welling up around him. I will call Harry. He thought. But this time he only managed to dial the number and wait through one ring. He never even got the message machine.

Ron grabbed his coat and the house keys, flicking off the light in the kitchen and plunging the house back into darkness. He took the stairs rather then the elevator, finding himself moments later on the sidewalk he decided to walk to the park. It wasn't raining any more. There might be some brave soul there, though it was highly unlikely.

The night air was cool and refreshed from the rain. It was almost beautiful. The sky was black and the lights in the windows glowed their warm way out onto the streets, dappling the dark sidewalk in between the streetlights in flushes of gold. He walked among them as if through trees, winding his way through the suburbia of his neighbor hood, the houses and closed little stores, their neon signs turned off for the night.

The park was darker, as it was away from the honey windows and the streetlights. But it was peaceful, empty all but for one person, wrapped in a coat, hood up against the cool night air. Ron made his way across the play ground between the jungle gym and swings to the bench, the only one in the park. He hoped the stranger wouldn't mind. He took up a seat on the far side and leaned back so he could stare up at the non-existent stars.

Silence reigned and Ron relaxed in it, letting it wash away his worries and anger. Or, at least he tried. Letting go was harder then he thought. And he didn't know he had spoken out loud till the stranger answered him in a deep, soft voice.

"I know how you feel."

"Huh?" Ron turned his eyes from the black clouds to the person.

"To be ignored and forgotten by your friends, forsaken. As if they thought you dead."

"Yeah, dead. Maybe that's what I am." Ron mused. "You feel that way too?"

"I did for a long time. I understand. It helps to talk you know. If you want, you can tell me."

"Do you know how good it is to have someone actually notice you?" the stranger did not reply, stayed silent, waiting, listening.

"I just get so pissed sometimes. It's as if I don't exist anymore. Like as soon as he got lover-boy, I was history. No loyalty to "best friends". And they all pride him on that. And her! She just goes along with it. In fact, she likes the new guy. So it's them, the golden threesome. It used to be the three of us in the good old days. I thought it wasn't too bad. I was the sidekick to most people, but we were there for each other. Now they don't even bother to remember. I'm just one of the millions. One face in the sea of faces and they don't bother to look for me! They might at least call! But no, they're to busy with their busy complicated lives. No, they "envy" me when they see me without attachments or steady work to hold me down. Like I like that! I grovel down among the working class of normal shlucks so I can get my pay and I must have so may friends. Yes, and if I don't well, that's good too because I don't have any of those obligations. And of course I'm still their friend, even if they never bother to acknowledge me. Yeah right. I hate them sometimes. I really do. It's not really her fault though. It's all his. He's the one who had to go be famous. Famous people can't be friends with little nothings, no matter if they were partners in crime or not. No one mentions Ron in all the great adventures! No it's Golden Boy Harry and his friends. I really hate him. I do. I Hate Harry!"

Ron didn't even realize he had gotten so worked up till he stopped yelling and heard the echoes bouncing back from across the park. He felt a little chagrined. But it was good to get all that anger out of his system. Did, he really hate Harry? Not really, but he got so pissed sometimes. He sat down and breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself back down. The night regained its stillness and the stranger sat beside him companionably as if waiting to see if he was truly done. Ron could have kissed the cloaked head for listening, waiting, bothering to care. They might have been asleep. He couldn't see their face. But they hadn't stopped him, and they hadn't walked away.

"Thanks for listening." Ron said, quietly, calm regained.

"No problem. Any time you need. It, as I said, I know exactly how you feel. I just didn't have anyone to vent it to. It would have helped. I like listening. It makes me feel less alone anyways."

Ron blinked at the stranger. Could they be another lonely person just like him? He was feeling rather bold, supported by his excess energy from the rant he said,

"Would you like to get together and have a drink sometime?"

"That would be great. In fact, I know a nice little place by the name of the 'Wand and Spell'. It's in Diagon Alley."

"Wait, you're a wizard?" Ron was startled to say the least, a little wary. Did this man tell all people he met about wizards? Wasn't that a little…

"Yes, and no I don't go around telling everyone." The voice sounded like the speaker was smiling "you expression is very amusing. I recognized the hair. A Weasley right?"

"Ron. Ron Weasley." Ron held out his hand to the stranger.

"Tom. Tom Riddle." The man took his hand. It was cold, but not abnormally so, the night was making Ron's fingers numb as well. The name seemed to tug at a faint memory. But he couldn't place it. Where had he heard of this person before?

"Did you, by chance, attend Hogwarts?"

"I did."

Ron smiled, that's why he recognized the name. "That's it then, we must have been same year, or there about. What house?"

"Slytherin."

"And that's why I don't remember you well."

"I knew your sister." Tom supplied, his tone of one trying to be helpful. Ron felt a pang in his stomach. He looked at the ground, collecting himself around his next words.

"She's dead." There was a pause; Ron wondered what Tom was thinking.

"Oh I so sorry." he said at last. "She was a wonderful girl. She helped me when I needed it, even though my friends had abandoned me."

Ron didn't answer for a bit, probably one of her boyfriends, she had so many. "You must be a good person for her to like you. She always was helpful to everybody, no matter whom…" Ron paused again, and then decided to ask. "Do you want to have that drink sometime this weekend?"

Tom thought a moment "I'm free Sunday."

"Great. I have to go, but I'll see you then?"

"Sure." Tom agreed. Ron nodded to Tom, and then left for home. Maybe he was hungry after all.

A/N: Yeah! Tom has made his appearance! The story gets fun from here on out. My muse thanks you for hanging in there and reading this little whim of my friends and mine. I hope it isn't too horrible. Please review, tell me: is it awful? Utterly bizarre? Stupid? Good? Tell! Well, see you next update! And yes I agree it's a little unbelievable, but we're trying right?