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

Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones

Chapter 3: Attempting Escape

Harry had slept in a lot of different places.

During the ten miserable years he had spent at the Dursleys, scared and alone, a tiny cupboard under the stairs had been his bedroom and a small cot had been his bed. After he had run away from home, he had slept on everything from the cold, wet grass of a deserted park, to the doorstep of a closed shop.

Never though, in his whole life, had he woken up feeling as comfortable as he felt now.

He was still in quite considerable pain from the fight with the two thugs, but even that wasn't as bad as he had perhaps expected. Of course, he had always healed quite quickly when he'd needed to, but even so, whilst his head pounded in rhythm to his beating heart, and his chest ached slightly with every pained breath he took, Harry had woken up expecting to feel much worse then than he did now.

Despite this though, the fight had left his body aching and stinging all over, his shoulder feeling by far the worst. Experimentally he moved his arm, but had to stifle a scream at the intense pain that the action caused.

Once the pain ebbed away to a faint throb, Harry raised his other hand to feel it curiously, completely confused.

At the time, he'd thought he'd broken it outright, but even though it hurt terribly at the moment, Harry had had enough broken bones in his life to know that this should have felt worse. He thought he'd heard it snap though. It wasn't exactly the first time something like this had happened, but still...

Strange.

Pushing this thought aside for a moment though, keeping still so as not to jolt his shoulder again, Harry had to admit that he felt comfortable. The bed he was lying on, for it surely was a bed, had a comfortable mattress that his body sunk into wonderfully. The blanket wrapped around his skinny frame was warm, the fabric soft against his skin, and the pillow that his head lay on was so fluffy that he was sure his head would sink into it and disappear. It felt like heaven, and because of that, he was immediately suspicious.

Where on earth was he?

Without opening his eyes, although he was now wide awake, Harry tried to gather as much information as possible about his location. It was a habit that he had picked up quickly when living rough, especially in some of the more questionable areas he had stayed in. Harry had lost count of the times he had interrupted a potential thief or attacker, ready to run when they hadn't even known he was aware of them. The element of surprise had always been invaluable.

Using all his senses as he lay still under the covers, Harry determined quickly that wherever he was, it was inside and clean, but at the same time he was almost certain he wasn't in a hospital. There was a distinct absence of the sterile odour that a hospital room usually smelt of. Instead it had the homely smell of a well kept house, so as well as ruling out a hospital room, he also immediately ruled out the theory that he might have somehow made it back to his hideaway after the fight.

Scrunching his face to try to quell his anger, Harry took a moment to mourn the loss of yet another place to sleep. There was no way he could go back now, not when he had been spotted in the area. And, not only would he have to find somewhere new to sleep, he had also left behind his battered backpack, containing all his belongings. They were not much really, just odd bits and pieces he had managed to scrounge and save, but they meant the world to him.

Panicking slightly as a stray thought crossed his mind, Harry moved a hand down his trouser leg to his ankle. Feeling around blindly, Harry let out a sigh of relief when he felt the familiar bulge of his savings in his sock.

At least he had not lost everything.

The room was silent, except for a vague hum that Harry couldn't quite place, so he decided that for now at least, he was alone. Opening his eyes a crack, Harry was immediately struck by the colour orange, almost as if he was staring into a direct flame.

Confusion and curiosity overcoming him eventually, Harry opened his eyes fully, blinking furiously as he tried to dispel the blurriness that still plagued him.

Green eyes scanned the area, and his brow furrowed in confusion at the place he had been taken to. The room he was currently lying in was shrouded in a half-light but even that couldn't disguise the brightness of the orange wallpaper. The colour was so intense in fact, that he honestly couldn't tell if it was dawn or dusk.

Suppressing the swell of fear he felt at the unfamiliar surroundings, and putting aside his investigations for the moment, Harry assessed his own condition once again. The first thing he noticed was that he was still fully clothed under the covers, and that his t-shirt, which had been damp when he had put it on to help the red-haired stranger, was now bone dry. It seemed in better condition than he could remember as well, but Harry thought that that might have been his imagination and he shrugged the thought away.

Moving his body slowly to try to counter the achiness that still plagued him, Harry dragged himself into a sitting position on the bed, muffling a groan with his free hand as he twisted his injured shoulder slightly.

Tenderly, with his uninjured arm, Harry pressed a finger to his cheek, pulling it back when he felt a throbbing pain erupt from the area. Nothing too bad, though.

Nothing he couldn't handle.

Although he still felt weak, he realised quickly that he had to take advantage of the fact that he was alone wherever he was, especially since he may not get another chance. If he was lucky, he might be able to sneak out without his captors, whoever they were, being any the wiser.

Shakily, he pulled himself to his feet and hobbled over to the door. His movements, although pained and awkward, were silent, a practised art, and when he reached the door he paused, pressing an ear to the wood.

The other side was silent, and Harry deemed it safe enough to leave. As quietly as he could, he pulled open the door and cautiously poked his head out.

It was deserted.

Creeping down the narrow corridor, Harry looked around curiously. There were family photos everywhere; pictures of a redheaded family enjoying themselves in various activities. For one second, Harry could've sworn he saw one of the pictures move, but he must have imagined it because when he looked back the figures were as still as statues.

In one of the more recent pictures, Harry noticed a familiar face; it was the redheaded boy that he had rescued from those thugs in the street next to his hideaway.

Had the boy taken him back to his house?

Harry's memories after the fight were blurry at best, so he couldn't be sure. He remembered the two thugs leaving, and he remembered making his way painfully over to the boy he had saved, but his injuries and weakness had quickly caught up with him, and the last thing he recalled was a shrill woman's voice shouting 'Ronnie.'

Harry guessed that 'Ronnie' was the boy he saved, but he hadn't remained conscious long enough to find out.

The appearance of the boy in the photo, though, led Harry to believe that 'Ronnie' had taken him back with him. Why though, Harry had no idea, but he supposed he was grateful. There was always a chance that the thugs could have come back, and if he had been knocked out cold then he would have been an easy target.

Harry's sock covered feet crept silently down the stairs, and his senses were on full alert, poised and ready to run if it became necessary. The redhead might have done him a favour by taking him to what seemed to be a relatively safe place, but it didn't mean Harry was about to stick around. He was used to taking care of himself, and he had no reason to trust these people, no matter how much they helped him.

No, it was better to leave now, maybe start again somewhere new.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry paused again, straining his ears to take note of any sound.

There was a loud snoring coming from the room directly in front of him. Unfortunately, Harry couldn't see any other way out of the strange, cramped house, so pushing the door open gently, Harry crept in, hoping that he could get past the sleeping person without waking him up.

Moving quietly through what seemed to be a cosy living room, Harry held his breath as he passed the ginger haired boy sleeping on the couch. It was indeed the boy he had saved, made all the more clear by the huge, dark bruise that covered his nose. The boy's maroon pjyamas covered the rest of him, but Harry guessed there were a few more bruises on the rest of his body too.

Harry turned away slowly, and crept past the couch, stopping just shy of what seemed to be the front door. Raising a nervous hand, Harry was moments away from freedom when he heard a voice behind him.

"You're awake."

Harry flinched violently and raised his fists as he swung around to meet his potential attacker, tensed ready to flee if necessary.

"I...I won't hurt you," said the young red-haired boy unsurely as he stood in front of him, the couch now empty.

Embarrassed slightly, Harry cautiously raised his eyes to meet those of the boy he had saved, 'Ronnie' if his memory could be trusted.

"I'm Ron," greeted the boy, warily moving forward offering his right hand for a hand shake. Harry couldn't help it; the movement triggered some memories better left unremembered, and he stepped back immediately, his back hitting the door with a thud.

"Sorry...I'm sorry," Ron said and he stopped his advancement immediately. He looked at Harry and Harry stared back, the pair studying each other for a moment.

Squirming uneasily, Harry fidgeted as he tried to think of a way out of the situation. He hated being alone with people in a small space. It made him feel uncomfortably vulnerable, and at the moment Harry wanted nothing more than to escape, like a small animal trapped in a cage. Something must have been obvious in his expression, though, because Ron's eyes widened slightly in understanding.

"Please don't leave," Ron said somewhat desperately.

"Why?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse through lack of use.

Ron looked momentarily surprised at this, unsure of what to say, but after a moment he seemed to come to a decision, and he smiled at Harry in what he clearly deemed to be a reassuring way.

"Because you haven't even had breakfast yet," Ron said, looking vaguely pleased with himself.

As if it had heard the words itself, Harry's stomach grumbled loudly, but he held firm. He had been hungry before and he would be hungry again. He could handle it.

Ron frowned at Harry's defiance but he didn't give up.

"You could have a shower," Ron said, somewhat desperately. "Not that you smell, but...well..."

Ron trailed off at the embarrassment that flushed over Harry's face, but the damage had been done.

Living on the streets, Harry had been more concerned with surviving day to day. He hadn't enough space in his brain to worry about his appearance. However, surrounded as he was now by civilised people, his own lack of hygiene became more obvious, and he couldn't help but be ashamed by it.

"I'm sorry," Ron said apologetically, his face dropping. "It's just...Look, you saved me. I owe you one, okay? Please let me help. Let us help. My mum can heal you. I can tell you're still hurt."

Harry subconsciously brought a hand to his injured shoulder, but he didn't say anything. Instead he just stood completely still as he looked up at Ron with wide, green eyes, uncertainty clear in his expression.

"We won't hurt you, I promise."

Looking at the sincerity in Ron's eyes, Harry felt confusion overcome him. It had been a long time since anyone had even looked at him without disgust, let alone had actually wanted him to stay around.

Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded slowly, unable to speak as the lump in his throat constricted his vocal cords slightly.

"Shall I show you where the shower is?" Ron said cautiously, clearly trying not to offend or embarrass the black haired boy any further. Harry didn't answer though, nor did he move. With a deep breath, Harry stepped away from the door towards Ron, his hand outstretched.

"I'm Harry," he said hoarsely, his voice almost a whisper, his expression still wary as if he half-expected Ron to knock his gesture back.

Ron smiled widely, his relief palpable in the air as he shook the other boy's hand. "It's nice to meet you, Harry."

The pair looked at each other, neither making any further moves, but the tension that had been there only moments ago seemed to evaporate from the very air.

Ron cleared his throat, and took a cautious step towards Harry. The black haired boy stood his ground this time, his eyes never leaving the other boy's face.

"How old are you?" Ron asked, slightly more eager to continue the conversation now that Harry seemed more willing to talk. "I'm thirteen."

"I'm...twelve," Harry answered quietly, deciding on a whim to tell the truth. "I'll be thirteen soon."

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Ron with a smile. "You're my age, then."

Harry nodded warily, but he failed to see why that was so 'brilliant'. His birthdays had never been anything to celebrate, even before his life on the streets.

Seeing the serious expression that had grown gradually on the face of the boy in front of him as the seconds had passed, the smile fell from Ron's face, and he became serious once again.

"Do you want to sit down for a minute?" Ron asked with a frown. "No offence, but you seem like you're about to pass out again."

Harry nodded cautiously, since he did feel a little faint now that he thought about it, and moved over to the couch gingerly. Ron moved with him, immediately slumping down onto the large comfortable cushions, but Harry stopped just before he reached the seat.

Having seen Harry's reluctance, Ron asked, "What's wrong?"

Harry's cheeks flushed pink, and his gaze lowered to the ground.

"I'm dirty," Harry whispered. "My clothes...I'll get the couch dirty."

Flashbacks flew through his mind against his will; memories of slaps from his Aunt whenever he dared to sit on their living room furniture.

"You dirty freak!"

Harry scrunched his eyes shut tightly, his fists clenched as he tried desperately to shove away the unwanted memories. In the end, it was Ron's voice that brought him back.

"Hey mate," Ron said cautiously, his expression one of concern. "My mum...she won't mind. Honestly."

"Okay," Harry choked out, and mechanically he lowered himself down onto the couch, his fists still clenched as he fought to regain control.

This was why it was better to be alone. When he was alone, there were no rules to follow.

When he was alone, there were no punishments for breaking the rules.

"So, Harry," Ron began uncomfortably, trying to ignore the fact that Harry was sat as far away from him as humanly possible. "How do you feel? Mum tried to heal you, but she didn't want to do too much with your head injury, and...well, she's not an expert..."

"I feel better," Harry answered, interrupting Ron's ramblings. "My head still hurts...but...I'm okay."

He shrugged, but pain erupted in his shoulder and he couldn't prevent a groan, his hand moving quickly to try to suppress the pain, squeezing the area tightly.

"Yeah, and I'm a raging hippogriff," Ron muttered off-handedly, and his tone was so matter of fact, his expression so normal, that Harry couldn't help it.

He giggled.

It bubbled out of him, escaping from some place deep inside of him where it had been hiding for all these years.

Ron smiled, and soon he joined Harry in fits of giggles that made the two of them look much more their age, much younger than they had only moments before. It felt good to laugh, and Harry felt something release inside of himself, like some long lost forgotten memory, finally resurfacing.

After a few minutes of uncontrollable laughter, and after a few deep breaths, Harry managed to calm himself enough to speak. Turning on the sofa, his face straight once again, he looked at the laughing redheaded boy and smiled, his first true smile in a long time.

Something had changed between them, and although Harry still felt uncomfortable in the strange house, and although he had many questions that it made his brain hurt, he no longer felt overwhelmed. He no longer had the urge to escape, because it was as if something was pulling him in.

It was almost as if he had found someone who was on his side. Almost like a friend.

The feeling was so unusual, so foreign to Harry, that his head throbbed vaguely as he tried to comprehend it. He had never had anyone who cared about him, and this small show of kinship, this small show of concern had nearly undone Harry, almost to the point of hysterics.

The ordinary boy, with red hair and maroon pyjamas had changed something in Harry.

He didn't want to be alone anymore, and that thought alone scared him. He had never had anyone to rely on before, and to put his trust in people he didn't even know would take a bravery Harry wasn't even sure he possessed.

Taking a deep breath, his face much more serious than it had been only moments before, Harry turned to Ron.

"Do you think..." Harry began, his throat tightening slightly with nerves. "I mean...your family...they won't hurt me will they? They don't mind me being here?"

Ron's face grew serious, and he looked at Harry with an intensity which, whilst not threatening, still made Harry shrink back slightly.

"You're a friend," Ron said with a certainty that gave Harry an odd feeling in his chest. "And my family...they're good people. We'll look after you. You're welcome here, I promise."

Tears pricked at Harry's eyes, and he had to turn away before he broke down completely.

"Harry, it'll be okay you know," Ron said, trying to reassure the small, frail looking boy beside him.

Harry said nothing, and clearing his throat, Ron decided that maybe Harry needed a few moments to himself. He began to stand up, but Harry started to speak before he could leave.

"I've never had a real friend before," Harry said quietly, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground, uncertainty clear in his demeanor. "I might not be a good one."

"You've already saved my life," Ron said, as he looked over to the black haired boy in understanding. "And you laughed at my joke. That makes you a pretty good friend in my book."

Harry looked at Ron, and noting not only the sincerity in his words, but the truthfulness in his eyes, he nodded slowly, a smile creeping back onto his face.

Maybe he could do this.

"Hippogriffs?" Harry asked quietly with a small grin, trying to look serious but failing miserably.

Ron snorted, and they both fell about laughing again, worries and concerns forgotten for the moment.

It felt good to laugh at something so silly, and for now Harry let himself enjoy it.

He let himself forget.

A/N- Another chapter is done! I hope you all enjoyed it! Your reviews have been so encouraging to me, and I'd just like to take a moment to thank each and every one of you! Hopefully you like where your encouragement has taken me!

It's 2.44 a.m. in England at the moment, so I'm tired, but I really wanted to get this out there. Your excitement feeds my excitement! I really hope it was worth it! Thanks for reading!