Unlocking the front door with a whispered spell, the pair found themselves in a dark hallway. There was no sound anywhere in the house except from the living room, where there was a loud, rhythmic thumping. Molly tried to think of the different things that could be causing it. Haunting, most likely. She was a bit surprised that Harry Potter would feel the need to call for help because of a ghost. Still...

"Stay back," she told Ron, advancing towards the door.

"Wands out, Mum," he whispered, and she took her son's advice without thinking that he was not supposed to be using magic at all. Silently, mother and son opened the door and entered. Then they stood, dumbstruck. Ron let out a strangled cry.

Ron recognized Harry's relations from the railway station. The big, stupid Muggles were tormenting Harry to the point of death. His friend's slight figure was writhing on the floor like a butterfly on a pin, his hand crushed beneath one of the Muggles' huge feet. He was unconscious, his small frame bruised and broken – there did not seem to be an unhurt spot on his body. His face was bloody and swollen. And though he was practically beaten to a pulp, the other big fat Muggle was whipping him mercilessly with the buckle end of a long leather belt. With each lash, the unconscious figure jerked and twitched.

Before Mrs. Weasley could collect herself, Ron had sprinted out from behind her and obeyed his first instinct, to shield Harry with his body from further beating. Dropping to his knees beside his friend, he deliberately put himself between the belt and the prone figure, crying out as he caught the impact of a blow on his right cheek. But now his mother had raised her wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

The belt flew out of Uncle Vernon's hand and he stared amazed at this invasion, sobered in an instant. He had barely had time to register it before his son was turned into a mouse and scuttled off under the sofa. He blanched as Mrs. Weasley advanced on him.

"M…dear madam, I assure you," he stammered, "I was merely disciplining the boy, he.. he was hysterical as you see, and I wished to calm him down-"

"Silencio!"

Unable suddenly to speak, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia stared horror-struck at this avenging angel in a floury apron. Mrs. Weasley's eyes were terrible to behold. As Aunt Petunia turned to escape, she spoke again.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Now unable to move, the two figures stared in terror as the woman came closer to them. When she spoke, her quiet, level tone spoke of a terrible, implacable hatred that was far worse than any anger could be.

"The only reason I'm not doing anything to you," she said, still in that same quiet tone, "is that what you deserve to have done to you no decent wizard would sully his hands by doing." She paced around the two human statues as she spoke. "You're so stupid, you'll deserve your fate when it comes – and it will, make no mistake. If you had any inkling – but how could you? – of what will happen to you, of what will happen to all of us, if this boy dies – of what may still happen while he lives, despite all our best efforts…" She trailed off shakily. "We are trying to fight to protect you and your ilk from the greatest danger that ever faced us all, and this is what you…" In disgust, she waved her wand, and two cockroaches cowered before her. "Temporario Effectus!" she said to the room in general, waving her wand in a circle to include the mouse as well. "Come on, Ron, let's get him home. Can he stand?"

"No, Mum, but I can carry him."

He was glad to find that his voice was strong, unaffected by the tears that flowed steadily and silently down his cheeks, without self-consciousness or shame. Ron Weasley had not moved from his position beside Harry since he first rushed to his side. He had thought of waking him, then decided it was kinder not to. Seeing Harry beaten by his own relations had shaken him to the core; he wanted badly to help, but was too afraid of causing further pain. Finally, he found a way of picking him up so that Harry's chest was pressed close to his own, the jet-black head lying against his shoulder, Ron's cradling arms barely touching the bruised and bleeding flesh of his friend's back.

"We need to go outside the wards for the Apparition to work, Ron," he dimly heard his mother's voice say. Shifting his small friend's body as he rose, he felt a pang at how light and frail Harry was, how easy it was to carry him. As Harry's head slipped into place against his shoulder, the black hair brushing Ron's cheek, a wave of protectiveness ripped through Ron. It made him feel somehow older, a more competent wizard. He felt he could have faced You-Know-Who in that moment if he had wanted to hurt Harry.

He almost felt too old for embarrassment. When his mother put her arms round both of them for the Side-Along Apparition, he leaned into her embrace like a little child. Not that that stopped Molly Weasley's rant for an instant.

"I'll have a thing or two to say to Albus Dumbledore, I shall! 'He'll be safer there.' Oh, will he! Just you wait, Headmaster!"