Chapter Text
The room was cold.
Not the kind of cold that bit at the skin — no, this was worse. It was the kind that crept inside your chest, slow and suffocating, like a breath you couldn’t quite catch. Like dread soaked into the stones.
Ron sat chained to the wall — wrists shackled above his head, ankles barely able to move. His hair was matted, ginger curls stained with sweat and blood, and a cut just above his eyebrow was still sluggishly dripping. His wand was gone. His voice was hoarse. His hope… fraying.
He didn’t even flinch when the iron door creaked open.
He kept his head down. He was done reacting to every sound. They wouldn’t break him — not like this. Not even with the whispers and the shadows and the way the Death Eaters laughed when they said his name.
But then—
A familiar pair of footsteps.
Measured.
Boots he knew.
Heart stopping.
He looked up.
And the world ended all over again.
Harry.
Hair longer now, curling at the nape of his neck. Robes dark as night, stitched with silver thread. His wand — Holly and phoenix feather, the same damn one — tucked neatly into his belt. A Death Eater behind him didn’t speak. They never did. Not when he was present.
Because he was the one they followed now.
Harry Potter.
Ron’s breath caught.
Harry stopped a few feet away, and for a second — just a flicker — his expression softened. He looked at Ron like something precious and broken. Like a favorite book left in the rain.
"I told them to be careful with you," Harry said, voice low and maddeningly calm.
Ron didn't answer. He couldn’t. He couldn’t trust his mouth not to betray his heart.
Harry stepped closer. Slow. Deliberate.
Ron pressed his back harder into the stone.
"You look tired,” Harry murmured, crouching in front of him. “You’ve lost weight.”
No answer.
“Still stubborn,” Harry added, almost with amusement.
He reached up.
Ron flinched violently when Harry's fingers brushed his temple — but the boy who used to be his best friend just smiled faintly and leaned in.
He kissed Ron’s bleeding forehead.
The contact burned more than the wound.
Ron’s entire body went rigid.
Harry pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “I missed you.”
Ron spat at his feet. “Go to hell.”
Harry only chuckled — not cruel, not mockingly. It was fond. Unsettlingly fond. Like this was just another Quidditch scuffle. Like this was still them.
“You’ll understand eventually,” Harry said, rising to his feet. “What we’re doing… it’s necessary.”
“You left,” Ron snarled. “You left us. You joined him.”
“I joined the only side that makes sense,” Harry replied, voice calm like glass. “The world was never going to change by playing hero. So I stopped pretending.”
Ron tugged at the chains — not to escape. Just to feel something.
“I came back for you,” Harry said, tilting his head. “I wanted to ask you myself.”
“Ask me what?” Ron hissed.
“To join me.”
The silence stretched between them like the space before a curse is cast.
Ron stared at him like he didn’t recognize him anymore. And maybe he didn’t.
“Join you,” Ron repeated, bitter. “You mean serve Voldemort?”
Harry’s jaw tightened. “Serve me.”
Ron shook his head, mouth twisted with disgust. “You’re mental.”
Harry took a breath. Deep. Patient. Almost pitying.
“That wasn’t a question, Ron.”
His wand was in his hand before Ron could brace.
A flash of red light surged through the room — not pain, but weight. Magic that pinned Ron tighter to the wall, a crack of energy that made the chains rattle and glow.
Ron groaned, breath knocked out of him, as the spell pressed down like invisible hands.
Harry crouched again, gently tilting Ron’s chin upward.
“You’ll come around,” he whispered. “You always do. You’re loyal. Brave. That’s what I’ve always loved about you.”
Ron’s eyes widened. “You—?”
“I loved you,” Harry said, smiling faintly. “I still do. More than the world. That’s why I couldn’t let them kill you.”
“You should’ve,” Ron spat.
Harry kissed his cheek. “I couldn’t.”
There was a long pause.
And then Harry straightened, eyes colder now.
“You’ll stay here,” he said. “Until you’re ready to talk. And when you are — I’ll be waiting. We’ll build something better. Together.”
He turned, footsteps echoing.
At the door, he paused, hand on the handle.
“I told them not to hurt you,” he murmured again, almost too quiet to hear. “Don’t make me hurt you myself.”
The door slammed shut.
And Ron was alone again — breath heavy, wrists raw, heart screaming.
But he would not break.
Not for Harry.
Not for anyone.