Chapter 10

"Don't look at me like that," Ellery snapped, as the occupants of the cellar turned to look at her with wide eyes.

"You never told me that," Robinson said, staring at his Auror partner.

"That was definitely not on your resumé," Robbards growled. "I would have seen it."

"That's because it's not a big deal," Ellery told them, exasperated. "I'm not like Harry or… or Malfoy. I accidentally locked myself in wardrobe with a Boggart when I was six. It damaged my magical core, or claustra, or whatever, but not that much. The most I can do is accidentally levitate things when I'm angry!"

She shook her wrists, rattling the chains. "There's no way I can break through these!"

Ron looked across the room at Harry – bloody, broken, barely breathing. "For all our sake's," he said slowly, "I suggest you try."

Ellery stared at him, and then at Harry, and sighed. "I'll – I'll try."

She pushed herself to her feet and leaned against the wall, staring at the manacle around her right wrist. Pressing her eyes tightly closed, she furrowed her brow, and concentrated.

Nothing happened. In fact, nothing continued to happen for the next ten minutes, except for Ellery's brow furrowing deeper and deeper and her cheeks flushing red with effort.

Finally, she snapped her eyes open and let out an angry huff, teeth gritted. "This. Isn't. Working."

"Keep trying," Ron encouraged her, desperate. Zabini could come back at any moment with answers about the bottle and the bond it contained, and Ron knew how that was going to play out. He'd break the bond, to prevent Hermione following it again, which would kill both Harry and Malfoy. And then he'd kill the four of them, to keep the murders a secret.

Ellery looked like she wanted to object but seemed to reconsider at his pleading expression. She closed her eyes again, but still, after a few minutes, there were no results.

"I can't! I told you – my magic isn't strong enough!"

The tattered remains of Ron's hope were beginning to wilt. If they didn't get out of here, Zabini was going to hit him with that spell again. And of all the ways to die, he really, really didn't want to die like that. In agonizing pain as his nerves slowly died. He wasn't an idiot, he knew what the lack of feeling in his hands and feet meant.

Robbards was regarding Ellery with a serious expression. "Evelyn," he tried, using her first name to get her attention – it was effective, Ron didn't think he'd ever heard Robbards use a first name. Hell, he didn't even know Robbards' first name.

"Are you married, Evelyn?" Robbards asked.

Ellery didn't look like she wanted to answer, seeming suspiciously on the verge of tears.

"Yeah, she is," Robinson piped up, and Evelyn shot her Auror partner a slightly betrayed look. "Ev's got a wife named Kimberley – calls her Kim, and – and a daughter, named Cara."

"Don't," Ellery rasped. "Please don't."

"Evelyn," Robbards said, ignoring her. "Tell me, how do you think Kim is going to feel when you don't come home after your shift today?"

"Don't," Ellery protested again, weakly.

"Kim's pregnant," Robinson added, and Ron kind of wanted to hit him, unclear on what game him and Robbards were playing at. "Second kid."

"Stop it!" The distraught witch told him. "Don't bring her into this!"

"Evelyn," Robbards said, completely calm from where he was supporting himself against the wall. "Do you really want Kim to go through that? You know Zabini is going to kill us – they'll probably never find our bodies. Maybe there'll be a funeral, maybe she'll hold out hope for years that you're coming back."

"Stop!" Ellery shouted, crying now.

"Do you really want your wife to live through that? Give birth to the baby by herself? Raise your kids all on her own? Without you?"

Ellery lunged at him, but was caught by the chains, tears pouring freely down her cheeks.

"Maybe she'll even find someone else," Robbards continued, still in the same calm tone. "After all, with you out of the picture –"

The shackles around Ellery's wrists suddenly exploded open, the chains swinging violently backwards so that one of the manacles would have cracked into Robinson's skull if he hadn't ducked at the last second.

Evelyn collapsed to her knees on the stone floor, breathing hard. "I fucking hate you, Robbards," she hissed.

"No, you don't," the Header Auror said. "Now get us out. Weasley first."

Ellery pushed herself to her feet, face still streaked with tears, and came over to where Ron was hanging, barely lucid, against the wall.

"Hey," she told to him. "You alright?"

"Fine," Ron lied through his teeth.

She put her hands on the manacles at Ron's wrists, fingers slipping a bit on the blood from where he'd struggled against them trying to get to Zabini. She closed her eyes, and again, absolutely nothing happened.

"Do I need to start talking about your daughter, Evelyn, how much she'll miss –"

"NO!" The shackles snapped open, and Evelyn breathed hard through her nose, looking everywhere except at Robbards as Ron slid slowly to the floor.

The lack of pressure on his wrists and shoulders was a massive relief, and the feeling of being free gave Ron enough strength to haul himself half-upright and stagger across the room to where Harry was unconscious. Collapsing against the wall next to the insensate Auror, he reached out and wiped blood from his best mate's bruised cheek. Harry looked even more awful up close. His face was gaunt, his cheeks were hollow, and the bruises around his eyes were dark with burst blood vessels. His breathing was shallow.

"Harry?" He tried. In his peripheral, he could see Evelyn working on Robinson's chains, and could hear Robbards calmly taunting her into using her wandless magic.

"Harry," he whispered, patting the man's cheek softly with a deadened palm. "Come on, mate, we're here to get you out." He didn't get a response, though Harry's eyelids seemed to flutter just slightly.

He heard the last of the shackles opening with a growl from Evelyn and then the others were around him.

"Think you can manage one more, Ellery?" Robinson asked.

"Don't talk to me," the witch ground out. She stepped forward and inspected the metal cuffs on Harry's wrists, before frowning. "These are different than the others."

"How so?" Robbards asked, leaning over her shoulder.

"The others are obviously Conjured from the stone walls. This – this isn't. And there are runes, look." She ran her index finger over a line of runes on the edge of the metal. "I don't recognize them all, but that one, that means 'bound', and that one means 'magic.' I don't think anything I try wandlessly will work on them, runic magic is powerful."

Ron felt sick to his stomach, remembering a comment that Robbards had made, what seemed forever ago in his office. The culprit had to have magic strong enough to keep Harry's contained. And this, this apparently was what had been keeping him contained.

"What do we do now?" Robinson asked, reaching out to touch the cuffs around Harry's wrists as well. "Not to be a doomsayer, but with Auror Potter still locked up and Evelyn being the only one who can do magic, I'm not seeing a lot of options here."

Suddenly, something burned against Ron's leg. He flinched.

The others looked at him worriedly as he nearly fell in his haste to reach inside his pocket. He pulled out a telltale gold coin.

Robinson snorted. "Are we going to try to bribe Zabini?"

"Shut up," Ron told him, excitedly. "It's not a Galleon. It's enchanted."

He showed the coin to them, face up on his palm. There, in golden text where the serial number should be, were the words: "WHERE ARE YOU?"

"Where on earth did you get this?" Robbards asked, taking the fake coin in hand.

"It's a Protean Charm. Hermione enchanted them in fifth year, back when Harry was leading Dumbledore's Army. It was a way to communicate meeting times without Umbridge knowing," Ron explained. "She got the idea from the Death Eater's Dark Marks."

Ellery looked impressed. "Your wife is brilliant."

"She really is," Ron breathed.

"Is there a way to send a message to her?" Robbards asked.

"Yeah," Ron said, "But normally you'd need a wand."

The Head Auror wordlessly handed the fake Galleon to Ellery.

Evelyn glared at him. "If you start talking about my wife –"

Ron glanced at Harry, who was still unconscious. They didn't have time to deal with this, so he interrupted her, "Look, you just have to sort of – direct your magic at the coin and think hard about what you want the message to say."

The witch looked down at the coin. "But what do we want it to say?"

Hope spread its wings inside Ron's chest. "I have an idea."

It was several hours before they could implement Ron's plan, but when they heard footsteps coming down, they were ready.

Ron had his thumbs wedged into the clasp of the cuffs, preventing them from closing on his wrists and trapping him again. He didn't think Ellery would appreciate having get him out a second time. He was trembling a bit as he held himself against the wall. Without the support of the manacles, he was forced to use his thighs to press himself upright, so as to look as if he was still locked up. With the painful shocks still occasionally wracking his muscles and a tingling, almost burning sensation in his limbs, the position was almost impossible to hold.

The others were doing the same, though perhaps they were standing with less difficulty than Ron was experiencing.

He didn't think their positions or the way they were holding the chains would stand up to a close inspection, but they didn't need to fool Zabini for long.

The footsteps came closer, and there was an elaborate clicking sound as whatever locking mechanism there was in the door disengaged. It swung open, and Ron tensed even further as their dark-skinned captor stepped into the cellar.

"Oh, you're still alive, Weasley," Zabini said conversationally. "Pity, usually the nerve damage takes them down by now."

Ron determinedly tried not to think about the pins and needles sensation that seemed to be playing a game of chess across his skin.

Zabini seemed content to largely ignore the Aurors this time, moving across the room to where Harry was slumped against the wall, and drawing his wand.

"Rennervate," he said.

Ron froze. He didn't know why Zabini wanted Harry awake, but he was sure it wasn't good. But they had to wait – they had to know for sure that Zabini had the bottle. Otherwise the plan would be pointless.

Harry groaned, head tossing and eyelids fluttering, before his eyes opened, startlingly green. He stared sightlessly for a second – Ron realized he wasn't wearing his glasses and it was just another cruelty Zabini had subjected his best mate to – and then seemed to focus on Zabini.

Zabini smiled, and then flicked his wand. Harry flinched, letting out an agonized sound, as another cut opened up on his cheek just below the first.

"I've just discovered something rather interesting," the Dark wizard said softly, petting Harry's hair as the brunet shrunk away from him. "Your friend left some rather specific books at the Auror office." He threw a smirk at Robbards. "Which your receptionist was only to glad to let me see, or shall I say let the Head Auror see. Draco does make the best Polyjuice."

Ron wanted to swear. The raid hadn't been routinely logged. None of this had been routine. Anna would have no idea that Robbards had left on a mission, though she might have wondered why she hadn't seen him leave before he came back. But really – who's going to question the Head Auror on their whereabouts? And Hermione had left all those books on the desk – they'd only taken one to St. Mungo's.

Zabini switched his attention back to Harry, who didn't seem to have recognized that there was anyone else in the room. "It seems that you and Draco have developed a bond," he said, smiling. "And I get to be the one to break it."

"N-no," Harry whispered, his voice sounding more raw than most potions ingredients. "Please – just leave Draco out of this. I'll – I'll do anything you want."

Zabini pursed his lips. "I'm afraid the only thing I want is for Draco to die."

Tears slipped out of the corners of Harry's green eyes, and Ron desperately wanted to shove the man off of his best mate and take Harry far away from here.

"Why are you doing this?" Harry begged, struggling weakly. "Please, Blaise, Draco's your friend."

"He's not my friend!" Zabini shouted at him, anger like a thundercloud across his face. "He's stolen what's mine! My place in the world! He got everything!"

Harry flinched again, trying to get away from the hand that Zabini still had in his hair, which had dug into his scalp while he shouted.

"Dra-Draco's never stolen anything from you," Harry tried, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks.

"He's stolen everything," Zabini hissed, and then he took his hand out of Harry's hair. "And now I'm going to steal everything from him." He pulled the bottle out of his robe pocket.

"Now!" Robbards yelled, and they sprang into motion, save for Ellery who was holding the Galleon close and working to send the second message to Hermione.

Zabini barely had time to react before Robbards, Ron, and Robinson were on him. A streak of white light shot out of his wand, and someone yelled in pain, something hot and wet spattering against Ron's face. He brought his elbow down hard on Zabini's wrist, but the man didn't release the wand, instead shooting another spell. This one missed, ricocheting off the ceiling with explosive force and sending a shower of rock shards down over them.

One caught Ron in the hand, but he couldn't even feel it.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw something glow blue.

Ron swore violently. Hermione had already activated the Portkey. "Grab onto me!" he shouted, and then lunged away from Zabini and towards Harry. Harry was oblivious, focused on the bottle that Zabini had accidentally dropped into his lap and staring at the light within it with something approaching awe. Ron landed roughly, hitting Harry's legs, one hand closed on the portkey, the other wrapped around Harry's arm, and someone else's hand grabbed onto his ankle.

"I hope to God this doesn't rip your hands off," he told his best mate, and then the world ruptured into a swirl of colour and light.

The Portkey spat them out into the St. Mungo's hospital room in a pile of struggling bodies. His hand was still on Harry's bicep, and he went with his instincts and threw himself overtop of his best friend, trying to protect him from the spells that Zabini was firing off, apparently having been dragged with them.

Then a shrill, blessedly familiar voice yelled, "Stupefy!" and there was a flash of red light.

The struggling stopped.

"Ron?" A confused, equally blessedly familiar voice said, and Ron shot up to his knees so fast that he nearly slammed his head into Healer Fenwick's, who was leaning over him.

"Harry!" he shouted joyfully. And yes, his best mate's eyes were clear and looking directly at him, the green iris startlingly bright in contrast to the red blood and blue-black bruises adorning his face.

"Ron?" Harry rasped.

Hermione threw herself to her knees next to them.

"'Mione?" Harry asked.

"I'm here, Harry. You're safe."

Then, suddenly, looking like a Lumos Charm had been cast behind his eyes, Harry tried to sit up. "Draco," he was frantic, hand reaching up to tangle in Ron's robes. "Where's Draco?"

Someone pulled hard on Ron's robes from behind, a counterpoint to Harry's weak grasp on their front, and Ron turned, finding Healer Fenwick trying desperately to pull him out of the way in order to get to Harry where he was sandwiched between Ron and Hermione and the wall. "For Merlin's sake," the Healer ordered, "Get him near his bondmate, NOW!"

There was frantic movement, and Ron nearly tripped over Zabini's prone form. He had his arms hooked around Harry's back, carrying him, with Healer Fenwick on the other side and Hermione making worried noises from the sidelines.

And then Harry was on the bed, hands reaching for Draco's comatose form. Almost immediately, the Stasis Charm imploded with a whooshing noise that seemed to take all the air out of the room.

"Draco?" Harry said, voice weak as he stroked the blond's hair. "Draco, please."

For a moment, nothing happened, and then Malfoy suddenly took a breath like he'd breached the surface of a lake after being underwater for far too long. His eyes snapped open, and then his hands were on Harry. He struggled with the blankets briefly – they suddenly disintegrated before Ron's eyes – and then he was pushing Harry onto his back and crawling over him, pressing their frames together like he was trying to meld himself to the brunet's skin.

"Harry," he rasped, hands tangled into wildly messy dark hair. "Harry."

And then it didn't matter that they both unhealthily thin, or that Harry was covered in injuries, because they were kissing, hands tightly pressed to skin and limbs entangled, and Ron did not want to see that.

He turned to Hermione, who made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob, and then very slowly folded himself against her, forehead tucked into her shoulder.

She pulled him in tight, pressing her lips repeatedly against his ear, his hair, his brow. "Thank Merlin you're alright," she half-sobbed. "I was so worried. When you sent that message –" She squeezed him tighter.

"Thank you," Ron murmured in her ear. "Thank you. Without you we wouldn't have –"

"How did you even know I could retrieve the Portkey?" Hermione cried, hands squeezing his shoulders. "Where did you learn –"

Ron leaned back from her a bit, brow furrowing. "You told me. That one night when I was trying to get you to come to bed. You said that there was a way to retrieve Portkeys, but only if you knew exactly where it was sent from and knew what it was made of and what it's magical signature felt like. It wouldn't work on the one Zabini used to take Harry, but it could, and did work on the bottle."

"I – I don't even remember saying that," Hermione stuttered.

Ron grinned. "Not often I get to be the brilliant one."

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione said, pulling him close again. "You've always been brilliant!"

Suddenly, the door to the hospital room opened and a bunch of Healers poured through in a flood of lime-green robes, distracting Ron from burying his head against Hermione's shoulder.

With a start, he realized that Ellery and Robinson were both leaning over Robbards, who was still casting spellwork to keep Zabini in place even while the two Aurors put pressure on the deep cut that was seeping copious blood from his shoulder.

"Sir!" One of the newly arrived Healers said. "Stand down!"

"That man is a wanted criminal," Robbards insisted, not putting down his wand, which was probably Zabini's wand, actually. "I will not stand down until he is safely in custody!"

"Expelliarmus!" the Healer said, disarming him. "You are losing blood, sir! Unless you want to lose that arm as well, I suggest you stand down."

Robbards blinked, wandless, and the Healer took that for acquiescence, moving Robinson and Ellery out of the way and beginning to cast spells over the deep cut.

Hands red with blood, both Aurors were immediately accosted by a Healer each, while another went to tend to the downed Zabini, who had been thoroughly Incarceroused by Robbards.

Several others joined Healer Fenwick at the bed where Harry and Draco were becoming… increasingly indecent, actually. Healer Fenwick was holding the bottle with the bond in it with a determined expression, using the wand to pop the cork, and then began spiralling his wand, causing the light to pour out in an even stream and settle over the pair on the bed.

As it glowed brightly and then sank into Draco's and Harry's skin, Ron was distracted from the scene by the arrival of his own Healer.

"Healer Leavenworth," the man introduced himself. "Now, I understand you were in a recent altercation with a Dark wizard. Are you injured?"

"He's got cuts on his hands and wrists," Hermione started, frowning and pulling away to show his hands to the Healer.

"No," Ron interrupted her, thinking about the way his hand had been carding through her hair and yet he couldn't feel a thing. "No, the cuts are nothing. There's – there's something wrong."

His wife's frown deepened. "What? Ron, what's wrong?"

The Healer conjured a floating stretcher and eased Ron down onto it in a sitting position.

"Zabini used some kind of spell on me," Ron said. Now that the adrenaline was fading, the symptoms were racing back with vengeance. His skin was either burning or senseless, depending, and sharp shocks of pain were still stabbing into his limbs at random intervals. "Felt like a modified Cruciatus. He said – he said something about nerve damage?" He asked the Healer. "Hermione," he said, a bit miserably. "Hermione, I can't feel my hands."

"How long ago did this happen?" Healer Leavenworth asked briskly, arranging Ron on the stretcher while Hermione looked on with wide, worried eyes.

"A few hours?"

"Good, good," the Healer said. "Not to worry – you're well within the acceptable time range for treatment, Mr. –"

"Weasley. Ron Weasley."

"Well, Mr. Weasley. It just so happens that we have Nerve-Regrowth potion well stocked. Thanks to someone in this very room, actually, our Potions Master Malfoy. We'll have you sorted out in no time."

He bustled off, presumably to go get said potion.

"Nerve-Regrowth Potion?" Ron asked. "I thought that nerves were the one thing we couldn't regrow. Didn't we learn that from Lupin in third year?"

Hermione sighed, taking his hand, which he couldn't feel. "Don't you ever read, Ronald? There's a reason Malfoy is so well-accepted in the Potions community. He invented Nerve-Regrowth potion."

"Really?" Ron asked, a bit bewildered. A moment ago he'd been convinced that he would never be able to feel Hermione's hair in his hands again. Or hold his wand correctly. Or properly direct a broom through the air.

"Yes, Ron," Hermione said, a bit fondly. "It's even proven to be effective against the Cruciatus Curse, if applied in time. It also has an effect on severe cases of long-term Cruciatus patients, but it's not as strong. Hadn't Neville told you his parents are improving?"

"Well, yeah," Ron answered her. "But I just assumed they'd found some spell or something."

"What have I told you about assuming?"

"Not to?" Ron guessed.

Hermione squeezed his hand, which he only noticed because their joined hands knocked against his thigh, and then Healer Leavenworth returned.

He held a small bottle filled with bright red liquid, like cranberry juice except more… glowy. "Now, have you ever had Skele-Gro?" the Healer asked.

"No, but I know what it's like," Ron grimaced, remembering Harry's second-year Lockhart encounter.

"Well, Nerve-Regrowth tastes better, but I'm afraid it's just as painful. Now, we're going to get you set up in your own room, and you'll take this, but you'll be in for a rough few hours."

"But I'll be able to feel my hands again?"

The Healer smiled kindly. "Yes, Mr. Weasley, you'll be able to feel your hands again."

"Alright," Ron said, relaxing, and the Healer began moving the stretcher out of the room.

Ron looked around. The healers had arranged a kind of curtain around the sick bed, presumably behind which Draco and Harry were still thoroughly intertwined. Robbards had been bullied onto a stretcher and had thick white bandages wrapped around his no longer bleeding shoulder. Ellery and Robinson, looking shaken up but mostly fine, were sitting on stretchers as well, while their respective Healers held bottles of red potion and seemed to be explaining them.

Zabini was also on a stretcher, but he was still thoroughly tied up, and apparently while Ron had been distracted, more Aurors had arrived. The one standing guard near Zabini gave Ron a friendly nod.

In that moment, it really hit him.

They were safe. They were all safe.

He looked at Hermione, his wife, his lover, his partner, his friend, who he had briefly thought he might not ever see again, and had to close his eyes against tears.

There were safe.