Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones

Chapter 2: A Painful Rescue

Harry ran through the streets, his trainers splashing in the muddy puddles as the rain beat heavily onto his back, soaking him to the skin. He sprinted around the corner, coming to a skidding stop just outside his haven.

Pausing only to wipe the wet hair from his eyes, Harry yanked open the wooden board and dived inside, pulling his purchases behind him.

As soon as he made it inside the dusty, old pub, Harry immediately peeled off his drenched jacket and pulled off his squelching shoes, hanging the jacket on the back of a rickety chair to help it dry. He had no other clothes in as good a condition as these, so he had to take care of them. His T-shirt was in a considerably worse condition, covered as it was in dirt and holes, but it too followed the jacket on the back of a chair.

Harry shivered slightly, and hugged his skinny arms around his bare, pale torso, trying to contain what little heat he could. It wasn't a particularly cold day in London, but the constant rain complicated matters. Harry knew from experience that he would get sick if he stayed out in the rain all day, especially without a waterproof coat to protect him from the elements, so he knew he would have to stay inside today at least. He suspected that tomorrow would be no different either.

All in all though, Harry just counted himself lucky that, for the time being, he had a little money in his pocket and a roof over his head, even if it was leaking slightly.

Shrugging to himself, the skinny thirteen year-old sat down at the bar and pulled over the plastic carrier bag that had been his whole reason for the trip outside in the first place.

Food.

Harry's stomach rumbled loudly, but he took his time as he pulled out a loaf of bread, a small bottle of milk, a bottle of water, a tin of cold sausages and beans, and small packet of cooked meat.

The milk was a particular treat; he hadn't had any in so long that he almost forgotten what it tasted like. Popping open the top, Harry gulped the white liquid down greedily, licking his lips at the creamy taste.

He hadn't had anything so wonderful in such a long time, so much so that Harry felt a small grin begin to spread across his face, the muscles in his cheek tightening at the unfamiliar action. The bread soon followed the milk, as he pulled off a huge chunk and shoved it straight into his mouth, barely chewing as he ravenously ate as quickly as he could in order to satisfy his hunger.

After a few moments, though, his stomach churned uncomfortably at the new food and, with great regret, Harry slowed down immediately, recognising the warning signs, and chastising himself harshly for almost making himself sick.

Breathing deeply as his stomach began to fill more slowly this time, Harry felt the smile return, and he added some meat to the bread. Harry ate until he could eat no more, his stomach full for the first time in a long time.

He had been reluctant at first to spend some of his well-earned savings on food, but when he had woken up that morning, bleary eyed and with his thoughts elsewhere, he had accidentally glanced at his reflection in the dirty old mirror in the bathroom, unable to prevent the gasp of shock as he had looked at a face that he had not seen in such a long time.

He remembered, looking back on it now with a clearer head, being particularly struck by just how sallow and sunken his cheeks were, and his whole face had seemed unnaturally gaunt and unhealthy. Cursing himself harshly for his lack of foresight, he had also immediately regretted his decision to take his T-shirt off that morning, ready to change into another, as his uncovered chest too was displayed on the mirror in front of him. Widened eyes had taken in the bare, clearly starving torso, covered in scars that lined his chest in some sort of horrific pattern, varying in size and telling a story of pain and suffering.

A story he knew all too well.

Now, as he sat on the rickety old stool with the remnants of his meal spread out in front of him, the memory of his shock played before his eyes, haunting and taunting him in equal measure. He remembered slowly raising a shaking hand, tracing a particularly long scar that reached almost the entire length of his side. Despite the paleness of his skin, the white lines were clear and he had had to shake his head to dispel the painful memories, a motion he repeated now in the present.

It would do him no good to continue to dwell on the past.

Back in the present for the moment, Harry put down the rest of the bread, and downed the remains of the milk. Shaking himself once again from his memories, Harry ran a hand through his dark black hair, still lost in his thoughts. His hair felt lank and greasy to the touch, and was still wet from the rain, but its length had not changed, a fact that would have been unremarkable except for the fact that he had not had even one haircut in the entire two years he had lived on the streets. He had no idea why his untamable hair behaved that way, but he supposed it was just another thing to add to the list of what made him so strange.

Because odd things always seemed to happen around Harry.

Once, on one of his first nights on the streets, Harry had been running from another street kid who had been trying to steal his shoes when, to his surprise, a thick weed had grown unnaturally quickly through the hard concrete path, tripping his pursuer and allowing Harry to escape.

Another time, whilst he had still lived at the Dursleys, Harry had been cooking in the kitchen when he had dropped a plate. His stomach had dropped in fear as he had watched the plate drop disastrously to the floor, but to his absolute shock it had stopped in mid air, only centimetres before it would have smashed. After hearing his lumbering cousin make his way down the stairs, he had grabbed the plate in a panic, barely saving a thought for why it had been saved in the first place.

He must have had a guilty look on his face, though, because when his Uncle saw him he was punished anyway. Despite the pain though, Harry was well aware that it could have been worse.

His school life, and life at the Dursleys, had been plagued by many strange incidents, but the oddest of them all had to have been that time at the Zoo on Dudley's birthday. Talking to a snake had been weird enough, but when the glass had disappeared as well, Harry had almost fallen down in shock. It would have been funny, but the look on his Uncle's face had quickly evaporated any amusement. That punishment had been one of the worst...

Don't think about that, Harry told himself, shaking slightly. He had run away from home not long after that night, and he really didn't want to think about it now.

Picking up the remains of the food, as well as the tin of sausage and beans that he would save for another day, Harry trudged upstairs and made his way to the bedroom. Dumping the food on the floor, Harry tiredly dragged his battered bag over to the corner where he had slept last night. Settling down onto the floor, Harry pulled out the weathered and worn copy of Lord of the Rings that he had picked up from a charity box at one of the local churches.

Harry had not attended school since he had been ten years old, so he knew that he wasn't the best at all things academic, but he had gradually taught himself anything he had wanted to learn, and that including reading, one of the few things he did now purely for pleasure. He had struggled with it once his glasses had been stolen, but since he had few other things that gave him any joy anymore, he had been reluctant to give it up. If he squinted, he could just manage to make out the words, and that was good enough for him.

Of course, he couldn't write very well, especially since he had little need for it, but Harry was far from stupid. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, Harry had bought, or taken, any books he could get his hands on.

So far, Lord of the Rings was by far his favourite.

Making himself as comfortable as he could on the hard wooden floor, Harry settled in to get lost in a fantasy world, preferring to follow the adventures of Frodo and his friends, rather than dwell on his own miserable existence, his stomach comfortably full for once.

Maybe today wouldn't be so bad.

Ron Weasley was having a bad day.

Well, his whole summer holiday had been fairly miserable actually. He had been looking forward to travelling to Egypt with his family to visit his brother Bill, but at the last minute the trip had been cancelled because something had come up with his dad's work.

If that wasn't enough, his twin brothers Fred and George had been pranking him non-stop. For some reason they had decided to focus all their jokes at his expense this summer, and he hated it. Term at Hogwarts had only finished two weeks ago, but he had already been turned into a badger, had his hair dyed pink and had all the freckles removed from his face.

And now he was lost in gloomy, wet Muggle London.

Wandering through the streets listlessly, Ron thought back to where it had all begun. This morning his family had announced that they were going to visit Diagonal Alley and on a whim, and out of boredom, he had decided to tag along.

That had been his first mistake.

Then, when they had stopped by the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, Ron had become involved in a game of truth and dare that had been admittedly foolish. Eventually, to avoid answering an uncomfortable question about his feelings towards his friend Hermione, Ron had agreed to sneak into Muggle London and come back with a souvenir.

That had been his second mistake.

Once he had entered the London street at the front of the pub, Ron had been immediately caught up in the foot traffic on the pavement, people desperate to make the most of their lunch break. After a few minutes of struggling, Ron had managed to detangle himself from the crowd, but by then it was too late. He didn't recognise where he was any more, and having been turned around in the crowd more times than he could count, he no longer knew which direction to head back in.

In short, he was lost.

Instead of finding a nice cafe somewhere to sit and wait for his parents to come and find him, Ron had decided that he could find his own way back. He was thirteen years old after all. He wasn't a child.

That had been his third mistake.

Now, as he wandered the streets aimlessly, his stomach grumbling loudly as he became more and more miserable with every passing second, he was finally start to see exactly how bad a mistake it had been.

Stupid twins, Ron grumbled to himself bitterly as he rounded a corner, walking quickly past an abandoned pub, down the darkened alleyway that he had found himself on.

Subconsciously, the hairs rose on his arms, and he began to get a bad feeling; as if something was wrong. Ron picked up the pace, suddenly nervous for the first time about being alone in an unfamiliar city.

"Hey!"

Ron didn't turn round at the call, merely choosing to keep walking, his speed increasing almost to a run as he kept his gaze to the floor and his head down, trying desperately to avoid any attention.

"Hey! Ginger!"

An arm grabbed him and he was pulled back viciously almost knocking him off balance. Ron turned slowly, his wide eyes as he was greeted with the faces of his aggressors.

There were two boys in front of him, both around his age. One was tall with brown hair whilst the other was short with blond hair, but it was their expressions that caught Ron's attention most. They looked, to put it simply, threatening.

"Erm, yeah?" asked Ron nervously.

"Give us your money!" yelled the smallest one, and to his horror, Ron watched as the youth pulled out a knife.

"What? But I don't-" began Ron, his eyes never leaving the sharp blade of the knife. Not for the first time, he cursed the twins. He had his wand in the waistline of his trousers, but he didn't want to risk breaking the law by performing underage magic in front of muggles, so there was no way he could use it. On top of that, even though he was quite fit after hours spent playing Quidditch with his brothers, there was no way he could take one of these muggles in a fist fight, let alone both.

"Shut it Ginger!" yelled the taller one, before turning to his friend. "Search him."

"Hey," protested Ron as the two youths grabbed him and began pulling at his pockets. He didn't have any Muggle money though, and he was slightly worried what they would do when they found his wand.

"He hasn't got anything!" yelled the blond one in frustration. "Damn!"

Ron sighed in relief. They hadn't found his wand then. Now he just had to work out a way to reach for it without the youths noticing so that he wasn't entirely defenseless.

"Stupid idiot!" shouted his friend, aiming a kick at Ron, knocking him to his knees. Pain exploded in Ron's legs as he fell to the floor, but he had no time to recover before a punch connected his his face.

Blood spurted out of his nose, as Ron's vision blurred in pain. He curled up on the floor, trying to protect as much of his body as he could, trying to protect his wand, but it was no use. He was no match for the two street hardened criminals. Desperation and despair filled him as pain overcame his senses, and only one thought crossed his mind.

He was going to die here today.

"Hey!" came a hoarse voice from the other end of the street. Eyes half shut in pain, Ron squinted over to the mysterious figure, but he couldn't make out much more than the fact that it was clearly a young boy with black messy hair.

It was only a kid. Ron felt hope leave him as rapidly as it had come; maybe he wasn't a saviour after all.

"Hey!" called the voice once again, this time with a bit more confidence in his voice. "Pick on someone your own size!"

"What?" laughed the bigger thug. "Like you?"

"He's done nothing to you," the boy reasoned, oddly calm in Ron's oppinion. "Leave him!"

"Make us, weedy," yelled the blond one, brandishing the knife towards the black haired boy.

Apparently the boy took the thug to his word. Ron gasped aloud as the boy charged over to the bigger of the two teens and tackled him, knocking them both to the ground. Punches flew from both boys, and the second thug joined the fray immediately, causing the three of them to become a tangle of limbs in mere seconds.

The young black haired boy was like an animal though, and it wasn't long before the two thugs were running, much more bloody than they had been on their arrival.

Ron stared at the boy, who couldn't have been much older than twelve, as he picked himself slowly off the ground, his face bloody and his arm hanging limply by his side.

"Are you okay?" the boy asked, grimacing in pain as he hobbled over to Ron.

"Umm, yeah," replied Ron, raising a shaky hand to his bloody nose, relieved to find it wasn't broken and embarrassed to have been caught staring. "What about you?"

The boy shrugged, but even that seemed to cause him pain. "I've had...worse."

Ron didn't doubt that. Up close, the boy looked terrible, and that was even without taking into account his recent injuries. He looked half starved, his thin worn t-shirt hung loosly off his skinny frame, and his skin almost black with dirt. Cuts covered the boy's haggard face, and of what Ron could see of his arms there were numerous cuts, and even some scars there too.

"You don't look well," said Ron worriedly, grabbing onto the boys shoulders as he almost fell to the ground. "Where do you live? I'll take you home."

"Got...nowhere," answered the boy with difficulty, his eyes clenched shut in pain as he pulled himself away from Ron. "You can...go...now. I'll be...fine."

Even as he spoke though, the effort of supporting himself on shaky legs became too much and he paled considerably, his skin now more translucent than Ron thought possible. Moments later the boy's knees gave way, and he fell to the ground wordlessly, Ron's arms now the only thing keeping him upright.

"Yeah, you're completely fine," Ron muttered to himself, looking around for help. The alley was deserted though. Just as he was about to panic, certain that he was holding an unconscious, dying boy in his arms, he heard a voice he had never thought he would hear again.

"Ronnie!" cried Mrs Weasley, running over to her son with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Ronnie, we've been so worried!"

"Son," Mr Weasley said as he quickly followed his wife, concern covering every corner of his face. The twins and Ginny were not far behind, and it was not long before they noticed the state he was in, and the young boy in his arms.

"What happened?" asked Fred anxiously, unable to drag his eyes away from the blood that marred his younger brother's face.

Ron told them the whole story quickly, and the twins paled considerably as the tale progressed. When he got to the part of his mysterious saviour, all eyes moved to the young boy in Ron's arms, his dire condition only just becoming clear now that they knew Ron was alright.

"He's got nowhere to go, Mum," Ron said desperately. "We need to help him!"

Seeing the desperation and concern in her youngest son's face, and having noticed the horrible condition of the black haired boy up close, Molly's resolve crumbled, and she found herself nodding almost subconsciously.

"He can come home with us," Molly said softly as her husband and the twins helped the boys up, and half carried them down the side street. "We'll work out what to do when you're both healed."

Nothing else needed to be said, and with that the family, plus one, made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, each one of them completely oblivious to just how much their lives were about to change.

A/N- So, thoughts? Is the identity of the boy obvious to everyone? If not, more will be revealed in the next chapter.

Please, please, please review, and let me know what you think. I'm really nervous about this story! I want people to like it, and it really reassures me when people take time out of their day to let me know what they think! It only takes a second, and it will really make my day! Thanks for reading!