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

Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones

Chapter 10: Late Night Discussions

Harry crept down the small, tight stairs as quietly as possible, darkness enveloping his small form as he tried desperately not to wake up the other occupants of the house. It was late, so late that it was almost early, but sleep had so far evaded him, and he clenched his hand as he fought the urge to rub at his tired eyes for the hundredth time in the last few hours.

Hunger gripped his stomach in a familiar pain that he knew so well, but he pushed the feeling away as best he could, angry at himself for being the cause this time, rather than it being something beyond his control.

Dinner that night with the Weasleys had been an unusual affair for Harry; tenseness and anxiousness had been his prevalent emotions, and he had been almost silent during the meal, choosing instead to watch as the family interracted with obvious fondness.

On top of that, partly due to his nerves around the family and partly due to the fact that he had already been sick that day, his stomach had protested so much that he had barely managed a bite of the delicious meal before he found himself profusely apologising to Ron's mum when he couldn't eat anymore.

So, it was his own fault really that he was now sneaking around the house he had been told to temporarily treat as his own, pushing down the guilt as he crept around in search of food to satisfy his hunger. He'd had plenty of practice at this particular skill from his years of near-starvation at the Dursleys, but something about this night felt wrong to him somehow.

He'd had no qualms about taking whatever food he could sneak from his 'relatives' without them noticing, but now he found that he had doubts about the morality of stealing from the family who had taken him in. What if he was caught? Would it ruin everything?

He knew it shouldn't affect him- that he shouldn't care what the Weasleys thought about him. He knew that he should be stronger, braver, harder, but the two years he had spent sleeping rough on the streets were not enough to counteract the damage he knew had been done during the ten years he had spent at the Dursleys.

He was used to surviving on his own, used to scrounging meals wherever he could get them, but he was not used to the kindness that the Weasleys had shown him so far, and it had completely thrown him and put all his emotions up in the air. In all honesty, despite the reassurances that both Ron and his mum had given him, as well as the way the rest of the family had acted during dinner that night, Harry still found himself unsure of how to act.

Shaking his head to dispel the doubts that he knew he couldn't afford, he tip-toed silently through to the kitchen, his gaze on the floor and his thoughts distracting him so much that he didn't notice that the light was on in the room until it was too late. He had been far too concerned with being quiet that he had taken no notice of what was right in front of him.

It turned out he was not as alone as he'd thought.

"Harry?"

Harry froze, his eyes wide, rising slowly as he met the concerned, tired gaze of Mr Weasley.

Ron's dad was seated at the kitchen table with a mug of tea in front of him, his head resting in his arms. To Harry, he looked troubled and worried, and, despite his fear at being caught sneaking around the house, the black haired boy couldn't help but wonder what the man had to worry about.

Despite that though, Harry couldn't help but look deeper, even as fear clenched at his stomach. The man's prematurely balding head and the wrinkles lining his face attested to a life spent worrying, but there was something in his eyes, soft and unassuming, that led Harry to believe that the man was not necessarily unhappy. Oddly enough, it gave Harry a strange feeling of hope amidst the terror and doubt that plagued him.

"Harry," Mr Weasley repeated gently, concerned by the appearance of the boy this late at night. He rubbed his face tiredly as he stood up from the kitchen table, suppressing a sigh when the movement caused a flinch in the boy. "Are you okay?"

Harry nodded, his heart thumping madly as he looked towards the older man, fear palpable in the very air. If this had been Uncle Vernon, he would have been dead already.

"What's wrong?" Mr Weasley asked, his brow furrowed as he took in the scared, tense, frozen boy in the kitchen doorway. "Why are you up so late?"

"Couldn't sleep," Harry mumbled, his gaze lowered to the floor, as he tried desperately to make sure that his voice sounded strong. It was always worse if he seemed weak. He couldn't afford to show weakness or it would be preyed on, no doubt about it. It was a lesson he had learnt quickly, and painfully, during his life on the streets, and in Little Whinging.

"Look, I'm sorry," Harry said quickly before Mr Weasley could say anymore. "I shouldn't have...I'll go back upstairs. I'm...I'm sorry, sir."

"No, Harry, it's okay," Mr Weasley reassured quickly, careful not to make any sudden movements lest he scare the jumpy boy away. "And I'm not 'Sir', not to you. Or to anyone really. Call me Arthur. Or Mr Weasley, if that feels more comfortable."

Harry didn't answer, instead gulping loudly as he tried to suppress his long-learned lessons. It was proving more difficult than he'd hoped, and fear still had a grip on his mind.

"You can join me, if you want?" Mr Weasley said tentatively, talking as if he was scared of spooking a terrified animal into fleeing.

Harry took no notice of the words though, and he stumbled backwards slightly, his back hitting the frame of the door he had taken refuge in as all previous thoughts about bravery vanished into the very air. He couldn't help it; he wanted to leave, scared that the man would punish him now that his family were not with them. Now that they were alone.

The man – Mr Weasley - had said that it was okay, and that he could join him, but in his experience, words meant nothing really. Trust did not come easily to the boy, and despite their first meeting - which could have definitely gone worse - Harry knew that he couldn't afford to relax, especially in front of the man in the house.

Uncle Vernon had always been the worst of the Dursley family.

The urge to flee rose up in him again, almost overcoming sense, but Harry's stomach had other ideas, and it was with a sinking feeling that he heard a rumbling in his mid-section, a sure give-away of his reasons for being downstairs. He closed his eyes, his chest tightening as he waiting for the inevitable telling off. Or worse...

"Hungry?" Mr Weasley asked kindly, no trace of any anger in his voice.

Tentatively, Harry opened his eyes, unable to keep the confusion out of his expression. He tried to keep his face carefully blank - showing emotion was a weakness - but inside his mind was made up of a maelstrom of feeling, confusion and fear warring with each other as he looked towards the older man unsurely.

"I noticed that you didn't seem to eat much at dinner," continued Mr Weasley, only sympathy in his expression. "I wondered if you'd be hungry later on."

"Felt sick," Harry mumbled quietly, reluctant to answer but knowing he had little choice.

"Ah," Mr Weasley said, his tone full of sympathy. "Well, I don't blame you for that. It was rather a lot to take in."

The silence came upon them then, and it was particularly awkward as Harry refused to move even an inch in case he broke the strange truce they seemed to have. Being alone with adults- especially male adults- had always made him uncomfortable, although he had good reasons and experiences to back his feelings up.

Subconsciously he found that his eyes darted around the room, looking for a way out just in case he needed to run. Harry had never had this long with Uncle Vernon without the man's anger making itself known; his punishments had always been quick and painful, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if Mr Weasley was the same. After all, he had been caught sneaking around in the man's house...

Mr Weasley coughed awkwardly, but if had noticed Harry's uneasiness with the situation, he wasn't showing it on his face, and so far he hadn't reacted.

Taking a deep breath, Harry couldn't help but compare the two men, Ron's dad and Dudley's dad, as he shifted nervously from foot to foot, never leaving the relative safety of the doorway. So far Arthur Weasley was easily coming out on top, and Ron clearly thought the world of him, but Harry couldn't let himself trust the man even now. He had been burned by people too many times for that.

"Sit down, Harry," Mr Weasley sighed, pulling Harry out of his depressing thoughts. The tension around the young boy and himself was palpable but he pretended not to notice as he fixed what he hoped was a comforting smile on his face.

Harry, however, simply fidgeted from one sock-clad foot to the other, his hand nervously pulling at the borrowed pyjamas he was currently wearing. They were a little big for him, and no doubt made his frame look even thinner, but they were comfortable and they were warm, so he couldn't really complain.

In fact, they were the first pyjamas Harry could remember wearing, and he had found himself revelling in them when he had first put them on. Even at the Dursleys he had not been afforded the luxury of nightwear, instead being forced to wear one of Dudley's older t-shirts and a pair of ratty shorts during the long nights in his cupboard.

"Come on, sit down," Mr Weasley repeated, careful to keep his tone kind as he looked towards the pale boy who still hadn't moved. "I'm not as good as Molly when it comes to cooking, but I reckon I could rustle us up some soup."

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Harry sat unsurely in the seat at the opposite end of the table to Ron's dad as his stomach still grumbled uncomfortably. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the wooden table as Mr Weasley bustled about the kitchen with pots and pans, but he was wary still, and constantly on alert. Being alone with the man, even though he had been quite nice to him so far, made Harry nervous from experience, largely experience born from a lifetime of learning when to duck a blow and when to run.

"So tell me, Harry," began Mr Weasley casually as he tended to the soup on the stove. Harry snapped his head up in attention, anticipation clear in his tense body. "What exactly is the function of a rubber duck?"

"Erm...excuse me?" Harry replied, wondering if that was a trick question. Rubber ducks? Was Mr Weasley a bit touched in the head?

"You grew up in the muggle world didn't you?" Arthur asked, apparently having missed Harry's disbelieving tone. "I've always been fascinated with muggles..."

"Muggles?" asked Harry tentatively, curiosity overcoming him for the moment. If Mr Weasley was a bit mad, then he supposed it was better to know now then find out later. After all, he knew nothing about the man really.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Arthur said, and to Harry it seemed as if he actually was sorry. It was a strange experience to hear an adult apologise to him. "Did Ron not explain? 'Muggle' is a term we in the Wizarding world use to describe non-magical people."

"Oh, right," replied Harry uncertainly.

"Molly thinks I'm daft of course," Mr Weasley continued cheerfully as he dished out too bowls of steaming hot tomato soup. Harry's stomach growled excitedly as the bowl was placed in front of him. Mr Weasley took a seat opposite, but if he had noticed how Harry had tensed at the close proximity, he didn't let it show. "But I just find them so fascinating. Some of the things muggles come up with..."

"Like rubber ducks," Harry added tentatively, his confidence around the man growing with each second that he avoided any sort of punishment. He had hoped that his life here would be different to what it had been at the Dursleys, but it felt good to have it confirmed somewhat. He took a deep sniff of the delicious smell of the soup before tentatively raising his spoon. It was heaven, pure heaven, for his starving stomach.

"Exactly," Mr Weasley said with a smile, the excitement clear in his eyes. "But what do they do?"

"Erm," began Harry uncertainly, taking a pause from eating for a moment. "They're plastic toys...that you play with in the bath. That's it really..."

"Genius," exclaimed Mr Weasley, looking more like a child did than Harry at the moment. Harry couldn't help but return to his comparison of Ron's dad and Uncle Vernon. In his opinion, of what he had seen of the man so far, the two couldn't be more different. Hope rose in his chest at the thought; maybe things would be different here.

"So how's the soup?" asked Mr Weasley as he took a sip of his own.

"S'good," Harry mumbled, spooning more of the delicious meal into his mouth.

They ate in silence, content to enjoy the food and the quietness of a house that was mostly asleep. When the last spoonful had been licked, and Harry reluctantly dropped his spoon back in the bowl, Mr Weasley turned his attention back to the black haired boy, the newest addition to his family.

"Am I right in thinking that it wasn't just hunger that kept you awake tonight?" Mr Weasley asked shrewdly, and Harry was once again taken aback by the concern in the older man's expression. Taking a deep breath, Harry decided to do something that went completely against his instincts; he was going to trust the man, at least with the truth if nothing else.

"It's as if...it's too loud and too quiet at the same time," Harry said, but he flushed when he realised how stupid that sounded. "I mean...we're not in London anymore, and I'm not used to the quiet of the countryside. The city noises – they're missing. And well...I'm not used to sharing a room with someone either..."

"Ron's snoring bothering you?" Mr Weasley asked sympathetically, apparently pleased about the fact that Harry had started to talk to him.

"No," Harry replied quietly. "Well, not exactly. It's just...everything. The noise of him breathing, moving about in the bed, muttering in his sleep. It puts me...on edge. I keep thinking I'm about to be attacked or something. I'm just so used..."

"To being alone," Mr Weasley finished sadly, understanding clear as he gazed over to the boy sat opposite him.

"Yeah," Harry sighed, rubbing a hand nervously through his messy hair.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Mr Weasley said suddenly. "I'm sorry that those terrible things happened to you."

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry said quickly, before flushing almost immediately.

Was he being rude? His breathing quickened as he tentatively looked towards Mr Weasley. He wasn't used to dealing with adults, not in a positive capacity anyway, and in truth, he had no idea how to act.

"I suspect that's normal," Mr Weasley said softly, and Harry released the breath he was holding. "I'm not altogether sure it would be easy for anyone to hear either."

Harry didn't know what to say, so he chose instead to fiddle with a thread on his pyjama top. Mr Weasley looked on sympathetically, with no trace of pity in his eyes.

"If you ever need to talk," Mr Weasley continued, his tone sure. "If you ever decide that you need to talk with someone...about anything at all...well, I'll be there to listen. Molly will too, if you feel more comfortable talking to her. I know everything's happened a bit fast, and it's normal to feel overwhelmed. Just remember, you're safe here."

"Thanks," Harry said softly, gulping back the emotion that was trying to force its way up.

"I mean it," Mr Weasley said with a kind smile, a smile that Harry tentatively returned. All too soon, however, Mr Weasley turned serious again. "I will never hurt you. Not ever."

"I know," Harry whispered, the smile dropping from his face. "Ron told me..."

"Harry, I mean it," Mr Weasley repeated, having noticed the uncertainty that still plagued the boy. Resisting the desperate urge to curse the boy's relatives for the damage they had done to Harry, Arthur forced himself to continue. "I will never hit you. I will never beat you. I will never bully you. Harry, I will never hurt you."

Harry looked up, and immediately saw the sincerity in the older man's eyes, but doubt still clouded his mind, tightening his chest as he fought to voice what he had been feeling for a very long time.

"But you don't know me," Harry whispered, lowering his gaze to his hands. "What if I deserve it?"

"Oh Harry," Mr Weasley said, his hand itching to make contact, to reassure him that touch did not always equal pain. "You never deserved that. No matter what you did, what happened to you was wrong. It was wrong."

"But he never hurt Dudley," Harry said, tears slipping from his eyes as he let go a confession that had been haunting him for years. "It was always me. It must have been something about me..."

"It wasn't you," Mr Weasley told the black haired boy, as tears gathered at the corners of his own eyes. "There's nothing wrong with you- nothing you ever did deserved that kind of punishment. It was them. They were the one that were wrong."

Mr Weasley looked towards Harry, sadness touching every corner of his face, barely suppressing the anger at the people who had damaged this boy so thoroughly that he believed that there was something wrong with him.

"I know it will take time, Harry," Mr Weasley continued softly. "But you are safe here. Tomorrow, I'm going to meet with Professor Dumbledore to discuss your schooling, but I'm going to ask if he could help establish some wards around our home as well."

"You don't need to go to any trouble," Harry said, absently wiping away the stray tears that still stuck to his face.

"It's no trouble, Harry," Mr Weasley said sadly. "I hope you'll be staying here for a long time, and with your status, we want to make sure you're safe."

"You still want me to stay?" Harry choked out.

"Yes, Harry," Mr Weasley said. "I know you think that we'll change our minds. That once Molly and I get to know you more that we'll start to see what your relatives saw, but it will never happen Harry. I already know enough about you."

"That I'm the Boy Who Lived - "

"No, that you're Harry," Mr Weasley interrupted. "You're a brave young boy who has somehow survived all these years without any help. You've been beaten, bullied and traumatised, but where anyone else would have given up long ago, you carried on. You're so full of courage, as well as a selflessness that is frankly astounding given what you've been through, that you saved a boy you didn't even know from people who could have killed you. I know it's not easy for you to accept, but we want to help you, not because you're famous, or even because we owe you something, but because we honestly want to. You're strong Harry, but you're not alone, not anymore. Let someone else worry about you for a change."

Instinctively, as the words began to sink into his already overloaded brain, Harry knew that he was the reason that Mr Weasley was up late, with his head in his hands. Harry would have felt guilt, will probably feel guilty later on, but honestly there was no room in his head for all the emotion that was piling up on him. All he could think was that Mr Weasley had been worrying about him.

No, not about him. For him.

Harry couldn't speak, had no words left in him to say, confusion warring in him as feelings of abandonment and loneliness fought with hope and the feeling that he might actually finally belong somewhere. That someone might actually care about him.

"Why don't you go back up to bed," Mr Weasley said softly as he pulled himself up from the table. He seemed to realise that Harry felt a little overloaded, and for that Harry was grateful. "Try to get some rest, won't you."

Harry nodded, moving on auto-pilot as he got up from the table and made his way back to the bedroom he shared with Ron, pausing only to nod his thanks towards Mr Weasley. Once he lay back on the camp bed, with the covers pulled up to his chin, exhaustion, both mental and physical came quickly upon him, and he drifted off almost immediately.

Mr Weasley, however, barely slept a wink.

A/N- Well, I probably over did this with angst and emotion, and I apologise if it is too much, but I couldn't help it. I know that some of my readers want Harry to be this strong, unflappable street kid who doesn't care about anyone else, and who is unaffected by everything, but I simply couldn't write him like that.

To me, Harry has always been affected by what happened to him at the Dursleys, and two years on the streets was simply not enough to erase the marks they left on him (inside and out). He is strong, but at the same time, he's just a scared young boy who knows nothing but horror and pain, and who honestly doesn't know how to react when someone is nice to him.

I couldn't see him running away from what the Weasleys were offering him, no matter how scared he might be, but I also couldn't see him simply accepting it with a doubt or second thought. He's taken a big step here, and Ron will play a big part in getting him to trust the Weasleys, but his past isn't simply going to go away. I hope you, as readers, can understand that.

Anyway, I hope all that came across in the chapter, at least. Thanks for all your thoughts of the last chapter, I appreciate every single one. Hopefully this chapter hasn't disappointed you.

Thanks for reading!