Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Chapter 17: Fight Back

"Fight back!" Harry bellowed. He glared at this broken thing in front of him. At the purple marks already forming along the entire left side of Ron's face. At his arms held up half way, but refusing to come up any further as Harry struck again and again.

"Fight back! Get angry! Argue!" Harry screamed.

Ron stumbled back as Harry rammed his fist into Ron's stomach. The breath let out of Ron, but the hands in front of him didn't push at Harry. Ron's cheeks didn't scrunch up in anger. His eyes didn't light up with fire or passion or anything remotely resembling his best friend. Instead, Ron's hands came up to land gently on Harry's shoulder as if to steady himself and his eyes reflected nothing back. Ron's shoulders were loose and his body sagged against the wall in anticipation.

Waiting for Harry to hit him again.

Harry screamed and banged his fist against Ron's chest as if it were a door that needed to be opened. He shouted and yelled, throwing accusations and demands at the red head, but Ron said nothing back. Expectation of more sat in every part of his body language with such weary acceptance that it made Harry physically sick.

"Where is he?!" Harry snapped. There was blood dripping down from the corner of Ron's eye, mixing with what was left of the severely split lip, all dripping down to paint both of their shirts red. All the air went out of him, leaving only the barest wisp of words to speak. "Where is my friend?"

Slowly, all six-foot-five of Ron began to slide down the length of the wall, his bad leg not able to hold him up any longer, dragging Harry down with him. They sat, inches from one another, breathing ragged, half breaths.

"Why won't you look me in the eye anymore? Why won't you fight back?" Harry spat.

Fingers traced his cheek. Startled, Harry fell back, sitting on his arse in surprise to see Ron had reached up and had cupped his face. The fingers were calloused and warm, long digits covering the entire length of his cheek.

"What do I possibly have to be angry about?" Ron croaked. "You can spit on me or kick me or kill me and I'd still just be happy that you let me be near you. I can't…"

Ron's right hand moved up to his chest, clenching the place over his heart.

"It hurts so much… I just want to die, and the only thing that makes it feel better is having you and Hermione with me."

Ron was crying now. He was choking on the sob in his throat and the hand on Harry's cheek trembled. Harry grabbed at it, realizing as Ron's hand slid from his face to his own that there were tears falling from Harry's own eyes.

"How can I be angry when I don't even deserve to live?" Ron sobbed. "I don't deserve to be here. I don't deserve…"

Harry dragged Ron to him. He threw his arms around Ron and found that no matter how far he reached it wasn't enough. Ron was in his arms and the red head had his face buried in his chest. Heart wrenching sobs Ron tried to smother into Harry's Auror jacket. Ron curled into himself against him, long limbs folding into a ball.

"I'm sorry," Ron wailed. "I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry."

It was Ron's voice. Not the forced casualness. Not the voice of stone. Not the repentant shadow. Not the familiar stranger. Not the helpful persona. Not the forced distance. Not anything that Ron had tried so hard to throw up between them. The wall Ron had been slamming bricks upon since he reappeared was gone and it was Ron in his arms right now.

"I know," Harry told him, pulling him still closer, trying to keep Ron right where he was. Terrified out of his mind that Ron would disappear again. "I know and I don't care. Just don't go. Don't go anywhere. Don't hide. Don't leave me."

Harry rocked back and forth, feeling and seeing Ron trying to breathe. Hyperventilating and sobbing as he clutched at Harry's chest. And Harry, throat thick and words like rocks, tried to garble together his thoughts enough to help, but could do little more than stumble upon the random word here or there.

"…take."

"In… it's okay."

"…here. Count your breaths."

When Ron's breathing finally evened out, it was because he'd lost consciousness. There, hands only partially unclenched from Harry's chest, face soaked and sweat covered. Harry could only sit there, lost and shaking, overwhelmed by it all.

"It's okay," Harry repeated, but there was no one awake to hear him. He found himself clutching Ron and watching the light outside slowly grow fainter and colder. He wasn't sure how long it was before he finally moved, gently rousing Ron.

The moment Ron's eyes fluttered open, his body stiffened and he sat up, his back turned away from Harry. Harry could only stare helplessly onward. Ron wiped at his face, almost turning toward him, but stilling instead.

"I'm sorry," Ron mumbled again, his head turned and he sniffled into the crook of his neck, and Harry was left with the odd impression that he as watching Ron 'pull himself together.'

"Don't be," Harry told him. "I'm glad you're back."

He knew Ron knew what he meant. Ron nodded, but didn't turn. Instead his hands fumbled around the wood floor, not paying attention to where they wandered. Ron finally looked around, but didn't seem to be able to find what he was looking for. He glanced in Harry's direction, his fingers stilling along the floor.

"Do you see my staff?" Ron asked.

Harry glanced around before finding it right next to him. Oak wood large and obvious, stretching out between them and practically touching Ron's shoes. Harry frowned, picking it up and handing it to Ron.

Ron didn't take it though.

He seemed to be waiting for something. Harry moved, his joints creaking from being forced into their positions for so long. Ron followed his movements, watching him as Harry moved. Harry jerked the staff in his arm again, gesturing for Ron to take it. Ron stared blankly at him though and made no move to take the walking stick from him.

"You asked for it, didn't you?" Harry jerked the staff a third time.

Ron started.

"Right, yeah," Ron hesitantly held out his hand for the stick, his hand almost touching his own, but not quite.

"Just take it, Ron," Harry snapped.

"Sorry," Ron mumbled, reaching forward and grabbing the staff, his fingers bumping into it before grasping the wood with certainty. Harry frowned, standing up and watching Ron watching him stand up. Ron stood slowly, leaning heavily against the staff and his left leg to drag his right leg off the ground.

There was a horrible thought trying to stretch its way across his brain. Harry tapped down on it, heading into the kitchen. He shuffled around, pulling things out of the cupboards and trying not to stare at Ron as he limped into the room carefully. Not in the 'injured' sort of way, but in the hesitant sort of way.

Harry summoned a bag of ice, then, on a whim, tossed it up and down, watching Ron. He looked toward Harry, exactly where he stood, his head tilted in that odd way… that odd way Harry was starting to realize was listening. He put the bag on the table as carefully as possible. Ron's eyes didn't even look at the bag. Harry stretched out his arm and moved it through the air as silently as he could. Ron's eyes followed his arm, his eyebrows rising as if to ask 'what are you doing?'

Ron could see movement.

Ron couldn't see much else.

"Ron…?"

Ron looked up at him and Harry recognized the blank emotionless look in his eyes for what it was. Harry grabbed the bag of ice, staggering over, trying to balance himself even as his world skewed.

"What? What is it?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head, putting the ice gently to Ron's face and telling him to hold it there. Ron did so and Harry worked at bringing the swelling down, easing the bruises until they were gone completely. Healing magic wasn't Harry's forte. If there'd been a broken bone there was nothing he could have done. But bruises were easy enough.

"Thanks," Ron murmured.

'What happened?'

'How have you been…'

'All this time…?'

The words stuck in Harry's throat. He sat down on the kitchen floor, close enough to Ron that their shoulders touched. It was dark out and Harry realized why it was that Ron traveled at night. Because it didn't matter to him and there were less people around. It made a sad sort of sense.

Ron fiddled with the stick, keeping the ice pack against his face even though Harry had healed the worst of the bruising. Ron didn't seem to notice the cold at all. His body was tense against Harry's shoulder and he realized that Ron must be waiting for something to happen. Another accusation or more anger, but Harry was fresh out. Too stunned and drained to even fully process the idea that Ron couldn't see him.

The delusion stood at the entrance to the kitchen, looking decidedly unhappy by how close Harry was to Ron. The redhead's blue eyes were cold enough to slice him to ribbons. Fury and hatred practically radiating off of him towards Ron.

Harry looked away, keeping his eyes on the real thing.

"So, you were captured and taken to Nox Wrack?" Harry asked eventually, when the silence was too long and he'd rather ask the awkward question than let it sit any longer.

"After I escaped from Numberland, yeah. There were a lot of Death Eaters and Snatchers that couldn't care less about blood status or what not, just about money and advantage."

"Do you know when that was?" Harry asked.

Ron smiled then, a little unhinged, and the laugh that followed set Harry on edge.

"It was cold and the days were short, so winter," Ron shrugged carelessly. "Maybe a month and a half after I left you and got instantly captured."

Ron laughed again. That same eerie sound that wasn't really a laugh at all. He let the ice bag dropped and adjusted himself, hand going to his lame leg and forcing the knee downward when it refused to bend right. Harry winced.

"I'm sure you're aware by now that Numberland was a city the prison was named after. It was the perfect place for the Death Eaters to set up its two central prisons-Numberland and Dersewel, because Nox Wrack had the entire area warded heavily years prior to keep its black market safe from both muggle and magical presence. Didn't know that when I escaped though, did I?"

Ron made a derogatory comment under his breath before continuing.

"Escaped one just to run into the fucking other… almost got Fred and George caught too."

"You saw Fred and George there?" Harry demanded. They had never mentioned anything like that before. Not when they'd all been trying to put the pieces together to find Ron. Not when news circulated making Ron out to be a Death Eater. Not when the war had ended and it was believed Ron was a traitor. Not once had they mentioned a meeting in Numberland.

Ron smiled self-deprecatingly.

"Well…"

Hope.

Ron knew the last time he'd allowed himself such a disease ridden idea. Maybe not the date or the time, but he could tell you from beginning to end when it had sparked and when it had died miserably, never to be seen again.

His first escape.

He taps down on the flutter inside his heart as he lays the dead body of his prison guard onto the floor. He refuses to think of the possibility of escape as he forces his emaciated hips through the rungs of rusted bars, concentrating instead on breathing through the thick mud piled up against the wall, on the small stones digging into his flesh as he drag his fingernails back and forth, making just enough room for him to get out. Ron crawls and ducks, moving slow even while he wants to leap up and run for all he's worth.

The guards change shifts, idle talk taking their eyes from the job to each other, giving Ron the chance to slip out. He doesn't run. He listens. He crouches. He waits. Outside of the Numberland Prison, away from the Death Eaters and Snatchers, he still refuses to let himself think he's escaped. He won't let hope kill him like so many others.

Ron stumbles and shudders his way through miles of forest, slipping into a town nearby just long enough to figure where he is and what his next move should be. He needs a wand, for one, a safe place to go, and something to eat before the acid in his stomach gets too much further into his stomach lining. Eating away at him from the inside out.

Order Safe Houses.

Moody set up three; London, Dublin, and Blackpool, but none of those were anywhere near him. Likewise, Bill's safe house was in Cornwall, far passed London on the coast. Tonk's mother's home was in Cambridge. Lee Jorden had small little holes all over the place, but the only ones Ron knew about were in Manchester and…

Ron stopped.

Numberland. It had to be close to here if the prison was named after the city. The small backwaters wizarding town that Lee's grandmother used to live in before she died. She'd left the house to Lee so that he would have a stable place to start out after he graduated, but Lee had chosen to stay near Diagone Alley since he was helping the twins launching their shop. He'd talked about fixing it up at some point, but hadn't gotten to it yet. Just a few things, enough to make it into a safe house.

He could go out to one of the muggle roads, get a lift, probably. It was a few hours by train, probably the same for muggle cars, right? Numberland was just outside of Durham which was pretty damn close to Apareci too, a wizarding town where a lot of researchers lived, where Fred and George went to talk shop with their inventions. He could probably find a wand shop there. Defend himself properly.

Ron was loathe to admit he had a plan, a destination. Every time he had, the plan had been torn apart, it was better to expect them coming. Expect that the Death Eater's knew where he was and were at that very moment right behind him, already practicing their holier than thou speech.

It took two days to get out of the deep forested area because of all the magical wards and one day hitch hiking rides after convincing an old couple that he wasn't a deranged, escaped convict. Exhausted, filthy, penniless, wandless, and with who knows what sort of monstrosity on his tail… the little bundle of hope he'd been neglecting and forcing into the closet of his mind began to slip out. Like an abandoned babe, it was working its way from an inconvenience to the only thing he had in the world.

Ron spent a week in the town, laying low and traveling to Apareci. He sent out a distress signal on the Order lines for his location, hoping that Fred and George would recognize the location and make a guess that it was him. He kept to the shadows and watched out for any signs of his brothers.

And then it happened.

One block away from the safe house.

He saw them.

They had dyed their hair. One a pitch black. The other blonde. Both heads were bent over papers in a café window, gesturing to each other and the work beneath them. They were arguing about something. Fred was jabbing his finger so fiercely it was a wonder the paper didn't rip. George was shaking his head, pointing something out, his face saying 'it can't work that way Fred, it needs a little more of this way.'

His heart leaped into his chest, throbbing so hard, it even overrode the sores alight on his feet. His hands shook and all he knew to do with them was to take both of his big brothers in his arms and never let them go. To hold tight and not fall apart himself.

Ron took off at a run. He was alive with energy where moments before he'd been ready to start crawling along the dirt road. To move forward even if it meant one knee to dirt drag at a time. He bumped into a woman. His mouth opening with the intentions of saying sorry, but not quite managing it. He was staggering forward, waving wildly at the window while gesturing apologetically behind.

Somewhere among his manic elation he missed them.

Not his brothers.

No, Fred and George never glanced his way, he hadn't been that lucky. The ones he missed were ones that walked in the shadows. Ron's feet locked up on him. A large hand wrapped around his mouth and nose, cloth between his lips and their fingers. A sweet smell and then dizziness.

Ron jabbed his elbow backwards. The person grunted. A whole different kind of adrenaline kicked in as he flung himself from the hands reaching for him. He tripped, rolling with the fall and found himself staring at an odd pair. A goblin and a strangely familiar wizard pulling out his wand.

Ron forced his knees under him, jumping up so quickly that half the blisters on his heels burst as he took off, mixing pus with dirt and blood and searing pain. Something exploded to his right and it was only his own dizziness, sending him to the ground again, that saved him from having a body part removed.

The sweet smell from the cloth felt like an invasion in his lungs, as if it were clogging it, making his breath come out wheeze like. His hands felt paralyzed, refusing to lift him from the ground. The goblin above him snickered, pointing mockingly at his own neck while the other man… the Death Eater, Ron finally recognized, had a shimmering silver like ball hovering over his wand with a red mark inside. An arrow, pointing straight at Ron's from on the ground.

"Tracker," the goblin gleefully declared.

And then Nox Wrack had loomed and he found himself in a tiny space, smelling the piss of the prisoner above him as it hit the top of his cage, hearing it slid across the metal and watching as it fell off the corner, droplets dribbling into his cage. Being haggled over for money. Refused, but only because another pair of Death Eaters were coming to pick Ron up for the Lestranges. Goyle and Mulciber.

"Ron," Harry breathed, pained.

Ron shrugged, still staring at the floor as he finished.

"I was so upset that I'd been so close, but thinking about it now… I could have gotten them killed. The two trackers weren't alone. We met up with another ten or so all heading to Nox Wrack, if I'd have made it to my brothers, I don't think any of us would have walked away."

"How long were you there?"

"A few weeks, 'em not sure. Got out of the cages at one point. Spent a few days trying to find the exit. Let me tell you right now that those were the three worst days of my life. Being so close to freedom and not being able to get to it. Turns out you can't find it if you have a tracker on you. Some magical application or what not. Fucking bullshit. I was eventually captured again, of course, then them Deaths show up and…"

Ron was tapping his fingers along with pant legs. Harry recognized it as a sign of agitation. It reminded him of the missing finger on Ron's hand and a part of him wondered if he cast a disillusionment charm if it would be enough to reveal what else Ron was hiding.

But Ron wasn't really hiding anything. Was he?

If Harry showed enough patience and trust, then Ron would tell him in time. One incident at a time.

"Harry," Ron spoke so quietly that he wasn't even sure he heard him. Ron's good leg knocked against his own and Harry watched as Ron's hand reached over and gently squeezed his knee. It was such a casual move. A simple way to feel where Harry's leg was before reaching out, and he hadn't noticed at all before.

"Harry," Ron repeated.

"Yeah?"

"Can you… I mean," Ron's breath hitched. "You were there… when my dad died. Can you…"

"Yeah."

Ron's body sagged against the wall and Harry felt his shoulder lean against his. It would have been more comfortable if they'd moved to the living room, but it seemed like to much effort in that moment. And it would break the peace that had settled between them. Unsteady, but throbbing in intensity.

"It was chaos," Harry started, grabbing Ron's hand and simply holding it in his. "There were curses flying everywhere and we were losing. It was a lot of Voldemort's more experienced Death Eaters. The numbers we were given were completely unreliable. Instead of fifteen there were at least fifty of them. All armed and ready. Your dad was great, he was the only one who thought to cast a shield around our group before they were on us… he saved so many people, Ron, so many…"

Ron choked.

Harry gripped Ron's hand harder. Ron returned the gesture, their fingers entwining.

"He never let that barrier drop… some of us left the barrier to gives the others a better chance to survive. I lost sight of him for a time…"

"Cause you were one of the idiots who left the barrier," Ron grinned through his tears.

"Yeah, I was one of those idiots. Neville too… but the nineteen under that barrier… they all got out alive, including Ginny and..."

"She wouldn't leave dad," Ron interrupted.

"Luna knocked her out," Harry admitted. "Hit Gin with her own bat boogey and lifted her in her arms like she weighed nothing before disapparating. Gin still hasn't forgiven her, but Arthur told Dean said to tell Luna he would forever be grateful for it."

"That's good," Ron said thickly, swallowing and speaking more clearly, he added. "Sounds just like dad. I wish I was there."

'You were.' Harry almost said. 'You were watching my back the whole time.'

Hearing voices in your head wasn't good though. Not even in the wizarding world.

"Tell me more?" Ron begged.

Harry did.