Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter or any of it's characters, settings, or plot ideas, why would I be writing here, instead of making another million dollar book?

Chapter 1: Elusive

It was over. Everything was being rebuilt. The ministry was stronger than ever and corruption had been exterminated from the government's ranks. Everything was perfect…right? Wrong.

Ron looked out the stormy cold window of the Burrow. Winter was coming in fast. If he planed to get to he'd have to hurry and pick up Hermione or there'd be no time.

He walked down the steps heavily. Each time his foot landed on the wooden step it made a heavy thud and the crack of wood as if the house was letting know how much weight was on his shoulders. Doors shut as he passed and reopened when he had gone by. His family had been giving him a wide birth sense the battle, one he didn't mind having. In fact the only time they really saw each other was during meals and even then they didn't speak much.

Everything was awkward now; he wasn't around to make everything seem okay with one of his awkward questions about magic or his goofy smile which made all the arguments seem stupid. He wasn't there to smooth the ruffled feathers caused by the Twins' jokes, or Percy's continued stuck up attitude. He wasn't there to make Ginny forget about cursing her brothers with her infamous Bat Boogie Hex. He wasn't their to play Quidditch with, or to laugh with him when Hermione lost again at chess.

Ron sighed and grabbed his coat, threw on a scarf and hurried to the fireplace. He threw in some floo powder and was off. He landed in Diagon Ally and hurried through the ever building number of customers. He swerved around all the carts and vendors, making his way to the ice cream shop they used to eat at all the time. Hermione was sitting at their normal table, uneaten ice cream dripping over her hand as she stared off into space.

Ron took up a napkin and wiped the mess off her hands. She came to as he was cleaning it off. She smiled and took the napkin from him. He sat down across from her. Before they had even been aloud to say hello the crowds were on them. Whether reporters or just people they once knew, they were all staring, asking questions or muttering to each other.

Hermione took Ron's arm and led him away. They left Diagon Ally for the Muggle street on the other side of the Leaky Caldron. They relaxed away from the prying eyes filled with either pity or blame. No one looked at them the same anymore. Whenever they entered shops, inns, food joints, it was ll the same, sad eyes, well wishing hopefuls lingering around them, hoping to catch a word about him or give their opinion or advice on the search.

The wizarding community had two opinions on their business. One, Ron and Hermione were to innocent bystanders which should be fondled and told it wasn't their fault, rapped in cloth and put away like china dolls when young children come to visit with a hyper poodle OR that they were the ones to be blamed. They were the last one to see their hero, and therefore the only ones who could have saved Harry James Potter.

No one who truly knew Harry, thought that he was dead. He came back to life so often it was assumed that he was never alive to begin with. Ron himself still expected Harry to walk around the corner with a large tray of shot glasses, a bottle of finest Firewhisky, and a game of Exploding Snap, laughing and saying how it was such a good joke.

Hermione took his hand in her own as they walked to a small coffee shop, the one where Harry had first brought them, where Ron had had his first taste of coffee and bounced around the square for an hour before the first sip of caffeine had worn off. Harry and Hermione had shared a laugh over that one. Thinking of the way Harry's eyes had light up as he watched his friend bouncing in his seat like some child who'd tried chocolate for the first time, brought a tear to Ron's eye.

The tear didn't make it any farther, however. Ron had shed his last tears for Harry a long time ago. He was focused on finding his friend. He was one of many who were sure that Harry was still alive. There was nothing to prove that he wasn't. Hermione supported his quest to find his best friend even though her enthusiasm had died after the first four months. She followed along to the Auror offices purely out of habit now, and Ron knew it but he felt like with every clue that they found to Harry's whereabouts gave her a glimmer of hope that she needed.

They sat in silence that had once been filled with laughter and jokes pointed at each other. Ron could still see Harry sitting, one leg resting on the other, leaning back in his chair with the coffee mug in his hands, laughing with his head tilted to the sky, mouth open wide as he laughed deep and booming over the little café, his glasses slipping down his nose as he expressed unhindered mirth at his friend's expense.

Ron swallowed hard and turned to look at Hermione. Their little party could now begin. It had been three years since anyone had seen him. Three years on that day. But, the third time was a charm right? Maybe he'd come waltzing through the door and tell them what he was thinking when he ran off. And Maybe Ron's brothers' would move out and get married, or the Twins would settle down and have a quiet family. It was too much to ask for, even after everything they did, it was too much.

They were inside for once, as the snow had picked up again. The café was small and cozy with a few locals hanging around twittering on about everything and nothing like nothing had happened. While it was an improvement from the people that hounded on them inside the wizarding town, Ron still found it almost as offending that these people didn't even seem to notice that Harry was gone.

Ron sipped his coffee and watched a small gaggle of cops drinking coffee in the corner of the room. They were laughing at something the tall dark haired man had just said. He had a nice leather coat on and his hands were in the air, waving around as the cops watched him talking. They started laughing and the dark haired man ruffled his hair in a familiar way.

It was funny, but before his disappearance, Ron had thought that Harry was one of a kind, that no one could be anything like him, but know he say Harry in everyone. He sighed and sipped his coffee again. The cops' laughter was becoming a bit obnoxious. Ron shout them a glare. Just then three or four pagers, Hermione had called them, went off. The dark haired man and two cops and a young redhead all looked down at their belts. They stood up and dropped some cash on the table and left excusing themselves hurriedly from the table.

As he turned, Ron watched the dark haired man. It was like the scene before his eyes had been slowed down so that Ron could see every detail clearly. The black hair was trying to catch up with the head as brilliant green eyes looked to the door. Hands went to the waist band of his dark blue jeans and he pulled a gun, Hermione called it. His hands were tough and callused, as if manual labor was common to them. The skin was tanned as if he spent most of his time outside in the sun but it held a fine texture to it which made Ron think that the man had not been doing much for a while. His mouth was set in a soft frown and his eyebrows were betraying his anxiety that his cool appearance fought so hard to mask.

His face was lined with scars, some long, old and deep, other short, new, and fading. What really caught Ron's eye was the trade mark lightning bolt scar over his right eye. At first Ron didn't believe himself, thought it was a trick of the light or his mind painting a picture that he needed to see. But as the man hurried out the door, trailed by the young redhead and the two cops, Ron watched him go and there was no doubt in his mind that it was the elusive Harry Fucking Potter.