A/N: I'll spare you my usual emotional gobbledygook in favor of getting to the story faster. In case you forgot that nasty cliffhanger I left you off with last chapter, here's a gentle reminder:
Previously, on Tales:
"I know that face," Charlie said. "Bad things tend to happen when you make that face, Ron."
Ron shook his head, his stomach in knots. Everything about the situation screamed impending doom, and Ron didn't really like to think about how often in the past year alone that he had felt that way. Instead of voicing his thoughts, however, he repeated the basest statement his mind would supply.
"I have a bad feeling."
The Tales of Weasley the Father
By dieselwriter
Chapter 31: The (Untold) Tales of House
Charlie sat on the coffee table casually, staring at his younger brother with a somber expression.
"What's going on?"
"I don't know," Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Then what do you think is going on?"
"I…I really don't know," Ron's thoughts were traveling too fast to keep track of, but one insidious and rather persistent fact remained glued to the forefront of his mind. "Bastard threw that letter in my kitchen!"
"I may need more information than that to keep up with the conversation," Charlie stated, crossing his arms tightly across his chest.
With a heavy sigh, Ron told his brother how Travis Scabior had sent threatening letters to the Minister of Magic, how each demanded the release of Death Eaters from Azkaban in exchange for preventing an attack on innocent witches and wizards at a location hinted at in each threat, how Ron had the misfortune at being at both locations Scabior had previously targeted, and how he (with some serious assistance from their nephew James) had conveniently thwarted both attacks.
"And now he tied his most recent threat to a brick and personally delivered it to my house by throwing it through my kitchen window."
"That might have been too much information," Charlie shook his head to clear it. "So you think this guy's targeting you?"
Ron hesitated a moment, knowing in his gut what his answer was but still apprehensive as to what it meant for his best friend.
"…Yes."
"You think he got Harry somehow and is now waiting for you at your house."
Ron nodded once, eyes on the family clock. Harry's hand was still swinging wildly between Home and Mortal Peril.
"We've gotta go."
"That's mad," Charlie blanched at his brother's sudden abruptness. "Let's call for back up."
"Can't," Ron shook his head sadly, meeting Charlie's eyes. "The second he thinks something's up he'll do a runner. I can't risk Harry like that. It's gotta be me and you, Charlie. You and your silent Apparitions; it's a very enviable skill."
Charlie gave a grim smile at hearing his own facetious boast be thrown back at him.
"This is insane, Ron."
"Story of my life."
"You've got two kids right upstairs—"
"Don't! Don't…" Ron pointed a shaking finger at his brother. "Harry's got three waiting for him to come home. Any decision I make affects more than just Hermione, Rose, and Hugo."
"So this has nothing to do with the fact that Harry's your best friend and you feel responsible for him being in this situation?"
"Does it matter?" Ron huffed indignantly to interrupt that line of guilt-laden conversation. "We have to do this Charlie. It's the best chance we've got at getting him back tonight."
"This morning," Charlie corrected, sneaking a peak at the clock once more. "This is insane, you know."
A small smile broke out across Ron's face.
"You want in?"
"Of course I do," Charlie shook his head at the need for the question. "Can't very well let you do it alone, and you'll do it with or without me."
"Sorry," Ron shrugged, not denying the fact.
"Should I tell Mum and Dad then?"
"Leave a note; they'll talk us out of it if we wake them up."
"Right, all right," Charlie sighed and stood, heading toward the kitchen to grab a spare bit of parchment and a quill to leave a note of explanation for the bizarre situation they were in.
Ron's head was buzzing from the late night adrenaline rush and his stomach was churning with worry and guilt. By the time he grabbed his wand and cloak Charlie was ready to go. They headed out into the backyard to prevent waking any of the sleeping inhabitants of the Burrow.
"Hey Charlie," Ron hesitated, scuffing the grass under his toe. "Thanks for this."
"Any time, little brother," Charlie slapped him on the back supportively. "I just hope we find an empty house."
"I wish Harry'd pop around the corner and laugh at us for jumping to the worst conclusion possible," Ron nodded.
"We are a couple of worrywarts, aren't we?"
Ron cracked another smile.
"You have a plan?" Charlie continued.
"He wants to talk to me," Ron supplied, "so I'll keep him busy while you scope out the scene. If Harry's there you grab him, and if he's not you're my secret weapon when I come up with a better plan."
"So…we're winging it."
"That's about the gist of it."
"This is sounding more and more like a plan George would throw together," Charlie muttered.
"Just…" Ron stuttered, not quite meeting his older brother's eyes, "just make sure that if Harry and I are both in a spot, you get Harry out of there. I'll have a wand; I'll be fine."
"You want me to put Harry first?"
The pause following the simple question was filled with the sounds of a night owl hooting in the distance.
"Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah I do."
Charlie shoved him affectionately, but even a light-hearted shove from the dragon tamer still sent Ron stumbling.
"Then I'll drag him out of there kicking and screaming if I have to," the older brother promised. "It's good to see your time at the Auror Academy was spent coming up with these ingenious half-assed plans."
"Hey, I excelled in Emergency Planning Class, I'll have you know."
"Sounds like we're the most qualified for the job then. Come on, let's find our favorite brother-in-law."
"Technically our only brother-in-law," Ron rolled his eyes.
Charlie turned on the spot and Disapparated without a sound while elbowing Ron in the gut in one fluid movement.
"Giant…graceful…nine-and-a-half fingered git," Ron winced, hunching over slightly to catch his breath.
Ron took a moment to compose himself from the unexpected brotherly blow before following after Charlie. He cringed when his arrival was announced with a Crack! that his frayed nerves assumed was loud enough to wake every neighbor he had on Knightstone Drive.
"Took you long enough," Charlie whispered from his side a moment later, making him jump. He looked on at the ominous back of the house and grimaced. "Nice menacing house you've got here."
Ron smiled all the same; he was blessed it was Charlie by his side. Most of his siblings ignored the authority his title as Auror held. Ginny was by far the worst at it; if she had been there with him instead there was no doubt that she would have rushed the house without him.
Charlie, on the other hand, had not only listened to his inane, paranoid thoughts about the missing Harry, but he then decided to join in on his mini rescue mission with barely a second thought.
"We try," Ron muttered out of the side of his mouth, barely loud enough to be heard.
Charlie just nodded up at the house, wand out and ready to follow his lead. Ron squeezed his brother's broad shoulder in thanks and reassurance before heading up the back steps of his home. He cast a non-verbal Alohomora on the lock and entered into the house for the first time in two months, when Travis Scabior's last threat had left a brick-shaped hole in his kitchen window.
There was something wrong; Ron could tell it the second he walked across the threshold. He paused, trying to identify his source of discomfiture. It didn't take him long to find the problem: a soft orange light spilled into the hallway from the living room, and a crackling sound could be heard beyond. Someone had started a fire (Ron sincerely hoped it was contained in the fireplace), and the Auror didn't have much doubt in who the culprit was.
He walked slowly down the hallway, taking in the details he didn't realize he missed so much. Ron wasn't sure if his fight with and current worry over Harry was making him sentimental or if he really had such an attachment to the place. All he did know was that the sight of a scorch mark in the wall left by a late night house made up of Exploding Snap cards that got out of hand should not cause a lump to form in his throat.
"Hugo."
"What?"
"I know that look. I am warning you now, as your father: Do. Not. Sneeze."
"I have a look? A sneezing look?" Hugo looked mortally offended. "I'm insulted."
"Your eyes are watering and your nose keeps twitching and it's the same face you've made before you destroyed the last five houses."
Hugo jutted his chin out defiantly as a robe- and pajama-clad Hermione entered the hallway.
"How long was I in the shower for?" she muttered faintly, quickly realizing that the house of Exploding Snap cards her husband and children had been working on a half hour ago now extended from the living room into the hallway.
"We got lucky," Ron said, throwing his son a withering glance while in the process of laying down another card carefully. "Hugo's last sneeze only took out the section by the mantle, so we were able to rebuild and expand out into the hall."
"Where's Rosie?" she asked, peaking out over the card-roof into the living room.
A small hand peaked out from a hole in the roof by the couch.
"I'm the snap technician, Mum; I can't be distracted!"
"You're the what now?" Hermione looked dumbfounded as her daughter's hand disappeared once more into the card house that really could be defined as a card mansion at this point.
"Snap technician!" Hermione turned when Hugo appeared quite suddenly at her side to explain. "Rosie's gotta make continuous runs throughout the house and replace any cards that look ready to snap."
"How can you tell that?"
"They start smoking at the edges."
Hermione eyed her living room again in apprehension before addressing her son.
"And what is your job?"
"His job is to get that cold under control!" Ron called over to the pair. "I'd make him a snap technician too but he's got that sneezing look about him right now."
"If I blow my nose can I join Rosie?" Hugo pleaded to his father.
Ron appraised him a moment with a serious expression on his face, as if sizing up one of the Junior Aurors instead of his own son. But when Hugo flashed him a broad smile Ron caved.
"Yes, all right, blow your nose and get your orders from your sister."
Hugo mock saluted him before running to the kitchen for a tissue.
Hermione shook her head in exasperation. It was only her family that could turn a sick day activity like building a card house into something so unnecessarily elaborate.
"C'mon, Hermione, I could use another architect over here."
"Architects and snap technicians," Hermione laughed at the absurdity even as she joined Ron on the floor of the hallway, grabbing a few of the playing cards herself. "Imagine all that we could accomplish if we put this sort of effort into something constructive."
"Constructing is constructive," Ron smiled cheekily at her. "We're making Hugo feel better about being sick."
The proof of Ron's statement came a second later as Hugo ripped around the hallway corner and slid on his knees to crawl inside the card house.
"You be careful out there, snap technician," Ron said, tipping an imaginary hat to him.
Hugo turned to respond and Ron's jaw slackened.
"Hugo, don't you dare—"
Hermione appeared confused until she caught a glance at Hugo's contorted face.
"No!"
Hugo buried the sneeze in the crook of his elbow and his parents froze fearfully. Approximately five seconds passed before they let out of a sigh of relief.
But it was seven seconds after the first sneeze that the second sneeze hit, and it was three seconds after that when the first Exploding Snap card detonated, setting off a chain of destruction that left no card free from harm and no face free from soot.
Ron stood in the remains of their achievement, helping Hermione to her feet and holding his son close to him, looking at his charred hallway like a man who had survived something far more catastrophic than the loss of a card house. Rosie ascended out of the ashes in the living room, easily the sootiest out of all of them. Her bright blue eyes stood out starkly against the grime on her face as she turned to her brother.
"Bless you."
Taking a steadying breath, Ron entered his living room, wand tight in his grasp.
It wasn't any sort of surprise to find Travis Scabior, ex-Death Eater and near the top of the Auror's Most Wanted Wizards list, reclined in an armchair in a shadowy corner of the room. In fact, his initial reaction was relief at finding a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace and nowhere else.
Well, Ron may admit to some form of delayed shock that kept him from entering the room a tad longer than normal. Hard not to when the current bane of your existence is sitting in your chair sipping tea out of one of your mugs. One he had gotten for Father's Day, judging by the cartoonish doodles of himself and his children painted on the sides.
"Auror Weasley," Scabior addressed him seriously, leaning forward so that what little of his face Ron could see by the firelight was thrown in starker contrast with the shadows.
Ron glanced around the room slowly, heart still racing. Nothing, apart from the wanted criminal, seemed out of place. The couch was still facing the fireplace with a coffee table in between, his armchair was still nestled in the corner of the room, the drapes still hung in front of the window, and his pictures were still up on the mantle.
The only real problem he had with the room was the fact that Scabior was there and Harry was not.
"Where's Harry?" Ron took a small step into the room to get a better view of it. It didn't really matter though; his best friend was nowhere to be found.
Scabior leaned back, his frame disappearing into shadow.
"Safe, for now."
Ron grit his teeth at the implied threat but remained resolute.
"This isn't a game I'm going to play with you," he said. "I need to know Harry's okay before we discuss anything."
Scabior put the mug down and stood up abruptly. Ron had feared for a moment he had come across as too demanding but then Scabior stepped into the light of the fire and a bit of panic overtook him instead at the sight.
This was a Travis Scabior Ron hadn't met in Diagon Alley that fateful Christmas over a year ago. That Scabior was scared, gaunt, and broken.
The man before him now still had his silver servant's hand, a wild tangle of hair, a twitching left eye, and an outfit that made some of the bums on Knockturn Alley seem posh by comparison. But this Scabior, the one standing before him at the moment, was a wizard Ron feared far more than the one he had met prior. This one had a calm look on his face, observant eyes, and a far healthier, albeit still dirty, pallor.
At some point between their past meeting and now, something inside Travis Scabior had changed. This was a new enemy that Ron didn't know anything about and definitely didn't want to get to know.
"What did you wanna discuss?" Scabior didn't make another move; he just stood in the light of the fire and kept watching him.
"Harry," the name was on Ron's lips before he could think of anything else to say. And after it was out, he found he had nothing more to say.
"You keep talkin' about Potter like 'e ain't 'ere."
Scabior withdrew his wand in a swift motion and Ron stiffened, tightening his own grip on his weapon. But the wizard flicked the wand at the floor, muttering a relatively harmless spell.
"Finite!"
The air suddenly seemed thicker, more palpable, when Harry Potter suddenly appeared, right where Scabior had cast his spell. Even in the dark surrounding him, Ron could tell it was him. He was unconscious, had a brilliant black eye, and was tied up in thick black cords, but he was there. Alive. The relief Ron felt left him weak in the knees for a moment.
The anger he felt the moment after carried him halfway across the room before he realized what he was doing and stopped. Scabior didn't move from his spot but his wand had moved to aim at him.
"Are you ready to discuss now, Auror Weasley?" the dark wizard's left eye twitched.
When Ron didn't answer right away, an unsettling fury swept through Scabior's eyes. It was fleeting, but Ron had noticed and tried to quell his own anger at seeing his abused best friend tied up on the floor of his living room.
"That's my seat," Ron eventually said, eying the armchair behind Scabior.
Ron wanted that chair, for many reasons. Forcing Scabior into the firelight would aid Charlie in his efforts. Having Scabior give in to an easy demand might make him more agreeable in later negotiations.
But with a pang of nostalgia, Ron realized the main reason he really wanted that chair was, indeed, because it was his chair.
"Mulloy with the Quaffle now. He streaks behind Egan to ride his slipstream down past Kerns and Horsfall. Mulloy passes to Luby just as a Bludger hits him in the arm—oh, that looks like it hurt—and Luby passes immediately to Egan. Egan takes the shot and it's—"
A soft click and the house fell silent, if only for a moment.
"Hey," Ron shifted in the armchair, barely able to keep his bleary eyes open, "I was listening to that."
"I've been gone for over an hour and you're sitting in the exact same position as when I left," Hermione sighed, but gave up and turned the Wireless back on when Ron continued to give her a commiserable look, made all the more pathetic by an inability to keep his eyes open for longer than five seconds at a time. "This match has seriously gotten out of hand."
"It's only been, what, three days?" Ron punctuated his statement with a yawn. "Best game they've played all season."
"I bet you can't even tell me what the score is."
"—And Luby puts it in the ring! That puts our score at…wow, 4,230 to 2,850 in the Bats' favor."
"There you go," Ron mumbled, snuggling into his chair and blanket simultaneously.
"They're losing," Hermione frowned as she situated herself in her own chair, balancing a book in her lap.
"It's about endurance."
"And not the fact that both Seekers received pretty severe head injuries in the first hour of the game."
Ron opened up his eyes long enough to glance at his wife, partly surprised but mostly torpid.
"You were listening?"
"Of course," Hermione said offhandedly as she opened her book to start reading. "It's important to you."
The commentary of the game played on for a few more minutes, before Ron's soft snores began punctuating the living room as well. Hermione looked over at him, smiled, and delved deeper into her tome, the sound of the Chudley Cannon's abysmal Quidditch game and her fiancé's sleep sounds enveloping her.
Ron's back twinged at the brief memory, only an echo of the real pain he had suffered sleeping for as long as he had in that chair.
Scabior gave a leering smile that sent an icy chill racing straight down Ron's spine.
"My apologies," he said, lowering his head submissively. His menacing smile was still plastered on his face, though, so Ron could only take the gesture as condescension. "Please, take your seat."
The fingers on Ron's left hand twitched reflexively as Scabior dragged Harry over to the couch by the back of his cloak. Scabior didn't do anything more than keep Harry on the floor at the base of the couch before sitting down.
Ron swallowed dryly but finally did as told and found his seat within the shadows. Scabior didn't waste a moment.
"I want Greyback out of Azkaban."
Ron blinked, judging how serious the request was. Based on the fact that his left eye had yet to stop twitching, Ron did not think this conversation would end well.
"You know I can't do that," Ron did his best to appear passive and not hostile.
"One man's life for another," Scabior's head leaned forward, his mane of hair falling over his face so Ron could not read his expression. "Your mate's life."
"For a monster's freedom," Ron retorted.
"Yaxley, then."
Ron bit his tongue, despising the fact that this had now somehow turned into a haggle over Harry's fate.
"No."
"Malfoy."
Ron asked the knee-jerk question before he could stop himself.
"Which one?"
Idiot! a Hermione-like berating in his head began, nagging him for playing into this delusion and asking the question.
"Lucius."
"No."
"Junior, then? What's 'is name…"
"No!" Ron felt infuriated with himself at asking in the first place.
"What the 'ell!" Scabior exploded and jumped to his feet, but Ron's rage at the whole situation had boiled over.
"I won't trade a man's life for another, no matter who it is!" Ron shouted, rising out of his chair as well.
The two squared off against each other. A bead of sweat trickled uncomfortably down the back of Ron's neck. Scabior panted in exertion at keeping himself under control.
"You don't 'ave much of a choice."
Ron's stomach was churning again, and his eyes darted to Harry for a moment to make sure he was still there and as alright as the situation would allow.
He didn't look any different, lying on the floor tied up. Ron wished he were conscious to give him some decent advice, because this was rapidly devolving into a game of pushing Scabior's buttons to see what might happen.
"There was a time you didn't want anything to do with this," Ron picked his words carefully when turning his attention back to the madman.
Ron watched as Scabior stared at him intently, trying to decide what he was up to. It was an uncomfortable minute until he seemingly gave up on what he was looking for and reclaimed his seat, Ron following suit slowly.
"You probably know more about this thing than I do," Scabior said tightly, shoving out his servant's hand for Ron to make out. He looked at him and continued on when Ron responded with a noncommittal shrug. "I tried doin' nothin'. Cut my 'and off as a result."
"You're right, I do know about it," Ron contended. "You saved a girl that day. A girl who fought against Voldemort in the Second Wizarding War."
"I…" Scabior's eyes darted down to Harry and back at Ron. "I didn't do that."
"You did."
They stared at each other. Ron tried not to let his trepidation of the whole situation show on his face. Scabior seemed to struggle on what to think the entire time before lowering his head in defeat.
"There's nothin' left for me but this."
Ron briefly recognized one of the changes Scabior had made between Christmas and today. He had accepted the fate that had been dealt to him since that hand had attached to his arm during the war.
There was no more self-pity, only resolve.
"Just because you can't think of a solution doesn't mean there isn't one," Ron rushed, not liking the finality of the words.
"Bet you got an answer for everythin'," Scabior sighed, rising to his feet once more. "Sometimes there ain't an answer."
"We'll come up with something," Ron rose cautiously, mimicking Scabior.
But Scabior didn't seem to hear the response; he was slowly turning to the mantle above the fire in curiosity. He perused the dusty collection of framed photographs resting there.
"Good looking family you got 'ere Weasley."
Ron thought his heart may have stopped; certainly his blood has frozen in his veins. Scabior had his back turned to Harry. If he hadn't had his wand aimed at him, Ron would've made a run for it.
Ron prayed Charlie would take the lull in the conversation as a cue to jump in and grab Harry.
"Precious little girl," Scabior said. Ron couldn't figure out this endgame strategy yet so he said nothing, just continued standing by his chair awkwardly. "And a reader?"
Ron knew what picture Scabior was looking at. It was one that had been taken when Rose was only three. He had been holding a fussy one-year-old Hugo with one arm while pointing out things in The Children's Guide to Fantastic Beasts by Rolf Scamander to Rosie with his free hand.
"Like you wouldn't believe," Ron said, unable to prevent his mind going back to that peaceful day.
"C'mon, Hugh, budge up. You don't want to go back to Azcriban, do ya?"
Hugo shoved his fist in his mouth. Whether or not he perceived Ron's half-hearted threat of being put back in his playpen (affectionately nicknamed Azcriban by Charlie after a weekend babysitting stint) was unknown.
"What's that?" Ron asked, pointing out a picture of a dragon to Rose.
"Drag'n," Rosie pulled her thumb out of her mouth to point at an illustration of another magical creature. "Whassit?"
"Kappa," Ron supplied before poking the tip of her nose. "What's that?"
"Nose," Rosie giggled, grabbing his ear with a saliva-covered thumb. "Whassit?"
"Gross," Ron grimaced at the slimy feeling, but his exaggerated expression made Rose laugh even more.
"Ear!" she answered her own question joyfully, turning Hugo's attention to the pair of them. He reached for his father's other ear with the hand that had been in his mouth.
"Gross!" Ron exclaimed, sticking his tongue out when Hugo made contact with a drooly hand.
"Whassit?" Rosie wrapped her small hand around Ron's thumb.
"Thumb," Ron answered, bringing up her hand to his mouth to steal a kiss. He pointed at Hugo's chest, and the baby grabbed his hand to stick in his mouth. "Who is this, Rosie?"
"Hugh!"
"And who am I?"
"Daddy!"
Ron smiled broadly at her, leaning forward to give her an affectionate kiss.
"That's my girl."
"Little girl, little boy," Scabior interrupted his thoughts with a dark chuckle. "Must be nice to 'ave one of each."
This could arguably have been one of the most uncomfortable conversations of his life. The only one that might've been in contention was the few words he had exchanged with his Yule Ball date back during the Triwizard Tournament.
"'E looks just like you," Scabior said.
"Acts just like me too."
There was a pause and Ron bit the inside of his cheek, not sure why he bothered entertaining the madman in his living room.
"Is that a good thing?" he gave a short laugh.
"Probably not," Ron found himself agreeing. "I've always been a bit of a trouble maker."
"Given where you're at right now, I can't disagree."
Ron didn't bother pointing out that the only reason he was stuck in this current situation was due to the man he was conversing with. He glanced over at Harry, hoping Charlie had gotten to him, but was disappointed at finding his friend still unconscious on the floor.
A move by Scabior brought Ron's attention back to him.
Ron saw red.
"Bastard!" he shouted upon finding Scabior tossing a framed photo into the fire crackling in the fireplace.
"Crucio!"
The spell was so sudden and unexpected that Ron's only defense was backing up, which ended in him tripping over his own chair. It was pure luck that the spell hit the armrest rather than himself. Debris, mostly in the form of fluffy couch stuffing, rained down on his head in a sad imitation of snow.
"What is wrong with you?!" Ron shouted out from behind the armchair. He peaked over the damaged armrest to aim his wand. "Aguamenti!"
Scabior's eyebrows lifted in surprise when the burst of water from Ron's wand forced him back several steps. The fire was immediately extinguished and with it the only source of light in the room, splashing the room in black and blue shadow. Despite the sudden plunge into darkness Ron could tell when Scabior dropped a picture on the floor from the tinkling sound of broken glass. Whether he did it on purpose or if it was dropped in surprise was something Ron could not determine.
"You're a pretty sensitive bloke, aren't ya?" Scabior called out in a self-satisfied tone, as if he had uncovered some well-hidden secret.
As Ron rose to his feet to face his problem head on, the moonlight shining through the window silhouetted the terror in Scabior's expression and it struck Ron to stillness. It was only present for a second, but he caught it before a mask of rage replaced it.
Ron knew where Travis Scabior was at: the point of no return. The point between having been a victim in this and becoming the villain. Between forcing to do the crime and deciding to do it. Between suffering from the pain and causing it.
Maybe he was sensitive, because in that flash of a moment, Ron could relate to him. Scabior wasn't the only one to act despicably under the influence of Voldemort's magic.
"Let me help you."
Scabior retreated a step back, acting as though the sentiment had physically burned him.
"I don't need your pity."
"I want to help you," Ron advanced forward when Scabior fell back, closer to the couch. "We can figure something out."
There was a hesitation in Scabior, a wide-eyed, shocking pause; it echoed Peter Pettigrew in his final act so much that Ron held his breath, afraid the servant's hand might act on its own accord. He really didn't want another man to die by those metal fingers while he watched on helplessly.
"I 'ave…nothin'. You're offerin' me nothin'. This," he stumbled backwards to stand at Harry's side and pointed his wand at him, "this is all I 'ave now."
They squared off silently, and for the first time that night Ron was glad Charlie had kept out up to this point. This was a conversation that needed to happen.
"All I can offer you is a chance," Ron implored the man, who was beginning to look more and more like the broken, hysterical wizard he had met on Diagon Alley. "A chance to be that man who saves the innocent instead of hurting them."
"I can't," but the moonlight reflected off the tears swimming in Scabior's eyes. He was staring at the photograph that had fallen to the floor.
"You were that man, once," Ron said. "You can be him again. Let me help you. Please."
"I…" his breathing hitched, getting trapped in his throat. A frantic heartbeat, two, passed. Then his silver hand shot out so suddenly he let out a hiccupped gasp.
The blood drained from Ron's face when, two more heartbeats later, Scabior lifted Harry bodily from the floor with his magical hand.
"This," Scabior's eyes were impossibly wide as he cried openly, his left one twitching erratically once again, "is who I am. It 'as to be this way."
And, despite the terror that made him tremble, Ron believed him. Believed that this was the path they were going to have to walk, because Ron did not know how to help this man, and Scabior did not want to help himself.
"I wish it didn't," Ron said simply. There was nothing left for him to say.
"I'm sorry."
As if realizing what he had just said, he lifted Harry further off the ground and shook him violently, threateningly. The action caused the dark haired Auror to jerk awake.
Ron didn't think he could feel any more helpless in that infinitesimal moment it took Harry to realize what was going on around him. It felt an eternity when his startled green eyes, looking nearly black in the moonlit room, landed on Ron, who felt very alone standing in the center of the room.
The brief distraction of his friend gaining consciousness wasn't lost on Scabior.
"Crucio!"
It took Ron a second too long to realize the jet of scarlet was aimed at himself rather than the bound Harry in Scabior's grip. The spell connected with his left shoulder and his view of the living room and any coherent thought was suddenly wiped away.
"RON!"
It was over as fast as it had hit him. He barely had time to let out a scream of pain before the red-hot sensation passed.
Ron's breath returned to him in panting gasps and he stared up at his ceiling in surprise. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse, and what he had just experienced couldn't relate.
It was cast without malice.
"Ron! What the hell is going on?!" Harry took his eyes off of his winded best friend long enough to realize who had him captive. "You!"
But Scabior ignored him; his frightened eyes were locked on his wand.
"You bastard—"
Scabior interrupted the beginning of Harry's tirade by dropping him unceremoniously on the floor. He crept forward, panting heavily, a fear-fed fire burning in his darkened eyes. But Ron was on his feet, wand in hand, defiant.
"Stupefy!"
"Vulnero!"
The spells collided in midair and exploded in a shower of sparks.
"Expelliarmus!" Ron retaliated, but Scabior deflected the spell with his metal hand. "Bombarda!"
Scabior slashed his wand and the second spell rebounded and hit the coffee table, sending splintering debris throughout the living room.
It was in the instant it took for Scabior to determine his next curse that Ron finally spotted the large shadow that was his brother making his move into the room. It would have been a welcome sight had it not diverted his attention from the madman for a second time.
"Sectumsempra!"
Ron made an undignified yelp and attempted to dodge the spell aimed at his heart. He paid for his distraction when the spell sliced at his shoulder before hitting the drapes behind him, which ripped to become a freshly shorn heap on the floor.
"Depulso!"
Ron, unsteady, felt the spell connect on his chest. Where the ex-Death Eater's earlier Unforgivable Curse barely packed a punch this one certainly did; he was lifted off his feet and when his back hit the window behind him, the glass shattered and he fell right out of it.
The air was knocked out of his lungs when he landed on his front porch. Glass shards dug into his back, making it painful when he sucked in short breaths through clenched teeth. He wasn't given nearly enough time to recuperate before Scabior shouted out: "Accio!"
"N—" was the half-formed exclamation Ron let out as he was magically lifted off his afflicted back (a miniscule part of him was grateful he didn't have to do the unpleasant task himself) and brought back into the house through the broken living room window.
The tenebrous surroundings and the weightlessness of his body left Ron in a state of disorientation, the only anchor available to him the wand held in the white-knuckle grip of his right hand. It only lasted a few seconds but was still preferred over the situation he eventually found himself in.
"I'm sorry," Scabior had him pinned to the floor on his back, the fingers of his right hand wrapped around Ron's throat. His magical metallic hand gripped Ron's wand hand so tightly the Auror feared he would break it like the last time they met.
"Ron! RON! NO! STOP IT! STOP!"
Ron choked, his injured back protesting every squirm of his combating body, but even through his watering eyes he could make out Charlie's bulky form leaning over to assist in freeing the still-restrained Harry. The fingers of his left hand struggled in an attempt to attack Scabior's face, but the dark wizard maneuvered so that his right knee immobilized it against the ground; his right hand held on to his wand, unable to do much else. Even oxygen deprived, he knew he needed to distract Scabior long enough for Charlie to get Harry to safety before he made his move.
"So this is it?" his voice was a hiss, but Scabior's face was right in front of his and he knew he could hear every word, even over Harry's shoutings in the background. "You're going to kill me?"
Scabior's grip didn't let up, and Ron, feeling the tendrils of panic worm their way into his heart, gave an almighty wrench of his right arm in an attempt to free itself of the vice-like grip. He was met with no success, for Scabior held on as though it cost him no energy.
"Yes," was the emotionless response. His gaze was glassy.
"NO! STOP IT! PLEASE! RON! I'LL KILL YOU!" Harry was shouting, thrashing really, and Ron's wince turned into an ill-timed grin, not sure if Harry had directed that last sentiment to himself for getting into this situation, Scabior for being the instigator of it, or Charlie for ignoring it.
"You greet death so casually?" Scabior's question had the sharp edge of fury, but the fact that it was a question implied uncertainty. As if recognizing his own confusion, his grip on Ron's neck tightened, completely blocking the windpipe and wiping the smile clean off the Auror's rapidly purpling face.
"Stop helping me and save him! Let me—you bastard! STOP!"
Scabior seemed to finally realize something was amiss and glanced over at Harry, only to watch as his hostage was forced out —very nearly carried out— of the room and into the hallway by a disheveled Charlie.
Ron again blessed the fact that it was Charlie with him, the brother who was strong enough to pull Harry to freedom and dependable enough to keep his promise to put their brother-in-law first.
"NO!" Scabior released Ron to chase after the escaping pair, but Ron's wand was at the ready.
Scabior had the advantage: he was fast and unharmed while Ron was on the ground and desperately gasping for air. Ron sent out a nonverbal Stinging Hex anyway. It wasn't very powerful but still had the desired effect of stopping his rampage in its tracks.
He watched as Ron scrambled to his feet, blinking fuzzy white spots out of his vision and ignoring the prickling pain that made his back feel as if it were on fire.
"This is all your fault."
Ron shrugged his uninjured shoulder, not trusting his voice. Even if he did disagree (he whole-heartedly did), there was nothing he could say to change the wizard's deluded mind.
It was a quiet moment as Scabior fingered his wand nervously and Ron studied his actions. He noted that his left eye was no longer twitching.
The demolition of the front door was the third and final distraction. It was the interference that proved costliest to Ron.
At hearing a commotion from the hallway, Ron turned to find his front door literally fly by the living room entrance. It was in that instant that Scabior made his move.
"No!" Ron rasped when the ex-Death Eater pulled out a dingy bag from his cloak pocket. Ron slashed his wand in the air violently, but the ex-Death Eater reached into the bag and vanished abruptly, the Stunning spell missing him by mere inches.
Ron's face fell and he snarled, kicking at the pile of drapes behind him.
Scabior was gone, and Ron was alone.
A/N: And here we have a bit of a...not really a cliffhanger, more of a roofhanger? More resolution to come in the next chapter. And speaking of which...
I absolutely, 100% promise you the next chapter will have more adequate amounts of Harry in it. For those of you like me who totally dig his and Ron's bromance, I recommend keeping this story on alert. You shall not be disappointed! ;)
Inserting heartfelt sentiments here: you guys are awesome for sticking with me for this long. Seriously. Some people wait a year for book sequels; you guys wait a year for like 3-5 chapter updates. Your patience and kindness knows no bounds! Thank you, most sincerely. I shall make as best an effort as possible to keep writing!
Thanks again, and keep being awesome!
~dieselwriter