Chained - H/R - NC-17
Title: Chained
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17

Written for cranberryink ‘cos she sent me a present. She asked for Harry/Ron, hurt/comfort, and, for some unknown reason, could Harry please wear a collar ?

Completely un-beta-ed.



Ron Weasley angrily paced his room at number 12 Grimmauld Place, muttering obscenities under his breath. Hermione sat on Harry’s bed glumly watching him prowling the room like a caged animal. He was bursting with energy with no outlet.

Ten days. Ten days ago Harry had been snatched from under his nose on a trip to Hogsmead and Ron could not stand this useless waiting.

He had just stormed out of dinner after another fight with his mother. Though it was now three months past his seventeenth birthday, his mother refused to let him join the Order, not while he was still in school. He would have left it without arguing until Harry’s seventeenth in July, but not now.

Not now that the Order was trying to find Harry. Not now that they were keeping Ron in the dark. Only Fred and George told him anything, and if anyone needed to be involved in this it was him. Not that there was much to tell.

After everything he’d been through with Harry, and now, with just days to go before they left school for good, he didn’t know if he’d ever see his best friend again.

Mere weeks since Voldemort had infiltrated the school and Harry had faced him once again. Alone, once again, somewhere down in the dungeons. But this time it had been decisive and Harry had emerged from the battle exhausted, filthy and drained.

Now, with the resilience of a youth he’d rarely been able to live and under the attentive care of Ron and Hermione, Harry was actually happy. The weight of expectation was finally off of his shoulders and, with the Ministry mopping up the rest of the Death Eaters and rebuilding works underway in Hogsmead and Diagon Alley, the mood of the Wizarding World was almost giddy.

He and Harry had been having the best time in Hogsmead. They’d just come out of the Three Broomsticks and were walking back up the main road, laughing and teasing each other. Ron had never felt so close to Harry, so connected.

So many times in the past couple of years Ron had wondered if he’d ever be able to tell his friend how he felt about him. But it had seemed like one more burden to place on those slender shoulders; one more person who expected something from him.

But what if he said something now? Harry was smiling up at him, face flushed from the butterbeer and laughter. What if he said “Harry. I need to tell you something. Now that you are free to decide for yourself what to do with your life. I want to know what part you see for me. I want, no, I need to know.” But he’d never said it. As they’d rounded a corner there had been a blow and a cry and Harry had crumpled to the ground beside him, blood flowing from a wound on the back of his head. Ron had turned and come face to face with the filthy figure of Peter Pettigrew and, before he’d reached for his wand, Pettigrew had cast Stupify on him and he’d known no more.

When he had awoken to find Harry gone he had panicked; he had run up to the school and grabbed Professor McGonagall and gabbled out his story. And then it had been taken out of his hands. He had helped search the school and the village, but it was soon clear that Harry was not to be found.

When the search had been widened and coordinated from 12 Grimmauld Place Ron and Hermione had got their way and been allowed to come down to London. But they were not involved in the search. Not that there was much to be involved in at the moment. Harry and Pettigrew had vanished. They weren’t in any known Death Eater houses – most of which were derelict anyway. But at least the members of the Order were doing something.

Ron whirled around once more and strode across the room, hands running through his hair, furiously cursing Pettigrew.

“Ron, please,” said Hermione “you’re making yourself ill. There’s nothing we can do tonight.”

“There’s nothing we can fucking do anyway Hermione” he shouted. “He’s fucking gone and it’s my fault and if I ever see Pettigrew again I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”

“Ron.”

He collapsed onto the bed beside her and dropped his face into his hands. “It’s my fault, Hermione” he whispered “he’s gone and it’s my fault.”

“Not again, Ron,” she moaned, flopping back onto Harry’s pillow “he took you both by surprise. He didn’t even use magic on Harry.”

“No, Hermione, not just when he attacked us. He was my fucking pet, he slept in my bed, he..”

“Oh not again, Ron. You know that wasn’t your fault. And it was Harry who saved his life that night – if it weren’t for Harry, Pettigrew would have been dead years ago. I’m going to bed, Ron, I can’t go through this every night. I miss him too, you know.”

“Oh Hermione, I know you do, I just can’t stand this,” and Ron pulled her closer into a rough hug and buried his face in her wild hair. “G’night Hermione, I’m sorry I take it out on you.”

“Night Ron. We must take care of each other, OK?”

****

Two a.m. and Ron lay awake, watching the moonlight move across Harry’s bed, wishing with all his heart that his closest friend was there with him.

Suddenly a shadow crossed the bed and Ron looked sharply at the open window, just as a ghostly shape entered. Ron leaped from his bed and reached for his wand, before recognizing Hedwig as she swooped down to his bed. “Where have you been, girl?” he asked her, stroking her head gently. Then he noticed a message tied to her leg. “Oh, Hedwig. Have you seen Harry?” She held out her leg and Ron’s clumsy, trembling fingers managed to unwind the parchment.

“RW. 3am Godric’s Hollow. Come alone. PP.” he read and went icy cold.

“Oh fuck,” he murmured, “oh, Harry, what am I going to do?” If he went alone Hermione would kill him, his mother would kill him. But if he deviated from his instructions it could kill Harry, and protecting Harry had always been Ron’s top priority.

Well, that settled it. He’d never do anything to risk hurting Harry, but he’d have to take his chances with his own safety. Silently dressing in his darkest clothes, he picked up his wand and his trainers and tiptoed downstairs. Deciding against leaving a note, as there was nothing he could say to make his mother feel any better, he slipped out of the house and closed the front door behind him. He sat on the front steps to lace up his trainers and looked up at the sky. There was no moon, but even with the London streetlights he could see how dark the night was; it’d be even darker at Godric’s Hollow.

He stood and strode into the square. Walking to the corner he ducked into the shadow of a large tree and breathed deeply, trying to slow the pounding in his chest that threatened to leap through his ribcage. God, oh god, oh god. Well, here goes nothing. Silently thanking his father, who had, for once, over-ridden his wife and insisted that Ron be allowed to take his Apparation test as soon as he turned seventeen, he raised his wand, concentrated on the ruined cottage outside Godric’s Hollow that Harry had lived in as a baby, and vanished from sight.

****

He was twenty minutes early, and he took the opportunity to slip into the shadows and watch the house. Remus had brought him and Harry here last summer, so at least he knew what he was looking at. The cottage itself was derelict. Voldemort’s demise had ripped the place apart, and the garden was hugely overgrown. Where could they be? There was no cellar under the cottage. The floors of the upstairs rooms had collapsed into the void below them.

Even after three years of the D.A. and having faced Death Eaters three times, Ron wasn’t sure what his strategy should be; he’d never been alone like this. Wait for Pettigrew and duel with him, or avoid him and try to find Harry? Listen to what Pettigrew had to say, or just kill him? Did he have Harry hidden away here somewhere? Shit, if he comes here alone, then Ron couldn’t hurt him, he had to keep him alive, to lead him to Harry.

Finally there was movement at the bottom of the garden, and Ron watched Pettigrew approach over the weed choked lawn. He kept looking back over his shoulder. When Pettigrew stood in the center of the old lawn, giving Ron no way to reach him undetected, Ron threw back his shoulders and strode out to meet him. Better look confident, huh? Surely Pettigrew was as cowardly as ever.

“Where is he, Wormtail?” Ron shouted, pleased to get the first word in.

“He’s safe, Ron. I didn’t hurt him. But you’ll have to help me before I’ll let you see him.”

“Didn’t hurt him? I saw you knock him out cold.” Ron breathed hard; he can’t let him emotions get the better of him tonight, not this close to finding Harry.

“I had a clear shot, I could have done worse than hit him – I didn’t even use magic. I didn’t hurt you either. I need you to help me, Ron.” Pettigrew’s beady eyes darted around the garden, trying to establish if Ron had indeed, as asked, come alone. “I need an Amnesty from the Ministry. I need to keep away from the surviving Death Eaters. I’ll tell them all I know. But I can’t hand myself in without a promise I’ll be OK.”

Ron swallowed hard. “OK? You want to be OK? After what you did for the past sixteen years?” he stepped forward and Pettigrew flinched. “You betrayed Harry’s parents; you betrayed Sirius; you betrayed my family; you brought V-voldemort back to life;” Pettigrew was hypnotized by the list of his crimes and though he cowered back, he didn’t flee as Ron strode closer “you hurt Harry, you took his blood; you killed Remus; now you have hurt Harry, you have taken him from us; you have to pay, Wormtail. I will make you pay. Now, tell me where he is.” He grabbed Pettigrew by the lapels of his filthy jacket and hauled him off his feet. He was a full head taller than the stooped man and Pettigrew trembled under his hands.

“I told you I wouldn’t hurt Harry,” he squeaked “I told you years ago. I watched over the two of you.” Ron shook him furiously and he screamed. “I had no choice. No choice. It would have been Azkaban or the Death Eaters.”

“Where is Harry, you bastard?” Ron shouted in his face, shaking him harder.

“He’s here, Ron, he’s nearby, just promise me you’ll…”

That was enough. Ron drew one hand back and punched him as hard as he could, snapping his head backwards. Then he threw him to the floor, hard, pointed his wand in the slack face and hissed “Stupefy!”

He stepped back, shaking and gulping for air. OK. Harry was here, somewhere, and if he couldn’t find him quickly, then he could hand Pettigrew over to the Aurors for questioning. Pettigrew probably hadn’t realized that Ron had been here before. That he’d brought here by Remus Lupin, the only other man who knew what lay at the bottom of the Potter’s garden. James had had a lockable cellar built for Remus’s transformations once they’d left school. He’d shown it to Ron and Harry. Surely Pettigrew knew it was there? Surely that was were he was keeping Harry.

He ran down the overgrown lawn and ducked under the trees at the bottom of the garden. Yes, there was the heavy wooden trapdoor, greenery scraped back and bolted closed. He pulled back the bolt and braced himself for the weight of the door as he pulled it open. Letting it crash back on its hinges, he peered down into the darkness. There was a ladder attached to the stone clad wall and Ron quickly dropped over the edge and scrambled down it. A dozen rungs down, his feet hit the earth floor and he stopped, raising his wand in front of him and whispering “Lumos!”

His breath left him in a painful rush and he felt light-headed. Yes. There was Harry, lying on his face on a blanket on the far side of the small chamber. He’d done it. He’d found him. He shook his head to clear it and made his feet move across the room. At Harry’s side he dropped his wand and dropped to his knees and took his friend in his arms and turned him over. He was breathing quietly, and there was congealed blood in his hair. There was a thick leather collar around his neck, that was attached to a ring driven into the stone wall. Harry wore just a t-shirt and boxers and Ron ran his hands down Harry’s body, not finding any other obvious injury, but his skin felt cold and he shivered under Ron’s large hands.

Ron looked around the room before the light from his wand faded. There on a shelf, was a jug, a loaf of bread and a thick candle; he picked up his wand and lit the candle. In its dancing light he turned back to Harry. “Ennervate!” he said, his voice breaking on the word, as Harry started to stir in his arms. He saw the immediate look of anger and terror on Harry’s face melt into wonder as he recognized Ron.

Harry’s shaking hand came up to touch Ron’s cheek, and his dry lips formed the word “Ron.”

Ron’s arms tightened around him and he rocked as he held Harry against his chest murmuring to him. “Oh, Harry. I’m here. I’m here.”

Harry’s hands clutched at him and the shivering worsened as the stress of the past week, that he’d tried so hard to keep at bay, hit him. Ron reached for the blanket and wrapped it around them both. He shifted around until he leant back against the wall and he held Harry in his arms until the shaking slowed and he felt Harry’s head fall limply on his shoulder.

He lowered Harry to the floor and looked around again. Bringing the jug of water and the stale bread over to his friend he propped him up again and held the jug to his lips. Harry gulped greedily, and the water ran down his neck and splashed onto their hands.

Lowering the jug, Ron met Harry’s eyes. “What did he do to you, Harry?” he queried, gently.

Harry shook his head. “’t’s ok, Ron” he croaked “I had water a couple of times, and something to eat. He wanted me alive, he wanted to make some sort of deal. Where is he?”

“Upstairs.” Ron gestured with his head “He Owled me to come here, wanted an Amnesty from the ministry. I knocked him out. He’ll have to face the Aurors. Oh Harry, I’ve been so scared. I thought I’d lost you,” he could barely choke out the words.

Harry laughed grimly. “I’ve been though worse, Ron.”

Ron rolled his eyes in the dark room. “Never again, Harry. Never. Please. Let’s get out of here, OK?” He ran his hand over the leather collar, but it was seamless and he couldn’t open it. Feeling down the chain he reached the end that was locked to the iron ring. Shrugging he raised his wand and uttered the word “Alohomora!” The lock opened and the chain fell limp in his hand.

“Alohomora?” asked Harry, grinning.

“Standard Book of Spells, chapter seven,” Ron grinned back at him, then grabbed him in another tight hug. “Harry, this our the last adventure, OK? I’m not doing this again.”

“What about Auror training, Ron?” Harry said, the words vibrating against his neck, and Ron shivered.

“No,” he said, utter determination in his voice, “you’ve done enough. You are going to play proffesional Quidditch and the only scares you’ll give me in future are when you fall off your fucking broom yet again.” Ducking his head he kissed Harry’s temple fiercely and repeatedly, then froze, realising what he’d done.

Harry looked up at him sharply, his eyes glittering in the candle light. “Ron?” he whispered, “what are you doing?” Ron’s body tensed, as if for flight, and Harry sat up and grabbed his arms. “What are you doing?”

Willing himself to breath, Ron looked into Harry’s eyes. They were guarded, but nothing more and he managed to say “I could have lost you, Harry. I love you. I’m in love with you.” Fuck. Well, he’d laid his cards on the table; not sure it was the perfect moment; Harry was covered in dried blood and half starved, but he was in Ron’s arms, and they were clinging together. And Harry was staring up at him.

“Ron, d’you mean that?”

Ron made a choking sound that was supposed to be a laugh. “Shit, Harry. Why would I make up something like that? Why would I lose my best friend over a joke?”

“You won’t lose me, Ron. Never. Never. I just can’t…”

“..feel the same, of course not. Of course not. I shouldn’t have said it.” Ron tried to extricate himself from Harry’s arms, but Harry held on surprisingly strongly for someone who’d been starved for a week.

“Let me finish my fucking sentence, Ron,” Harry hissed. “I just can’t believe you said it. I can’t believe I’d be this lucky. You are the person I care most about in the world; the person who taught me about friendship, about love.” His hand rose and his fingers ghosted across Ron’s lips, which parted. His eyes flicked down to Ron’s mouth and he leant closer. Their lips touched briefly and chastely. Harry pulled back and looked deep into Ron’s eyes. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this, Ron, because I love you, too.”

Ron gasped and pulled him closer once more. He held him tight and pressed desperate kisses over his bruised face. He ran his hands up Harry’s back and touched the collar around his slim neck, running his fingers over and over the pulse points trapped under the worn leather as Harry groaned into his mouth. Harry’s hands had slipped under Ron’s t-shirt were wandering over his chest. Ron pushed him back onto the blankets and leaned over him, kissing and biting his way along Harry’s jawline as he thrust one jeans-clad thigh between Harry’s and ground his erection against the other boy’s. He slipped one hand under the waistband of Harry’s boxers and his fingers closed around the satin-soft skin of Harry’s cock.

Harry groaned, and his eyelids fluttered shut. “No, Ron, don’t. I’m filthy dirty.”

“I don’t care,” Ron muttered against Harry’s neck, his tongue trailing across the salty skin and probing under the collar. His hand started moving again. He snorted indelicately as Harry, easily convinced, started thrusting up into his hand, but then gasped as Harry’s hands fumbled at his waist and undid the button and zipper on his jeans. Pushing them down just far enough, Harry freed Ron’s straining prick, which leapt into his hand.

Both of their bodies were coursing with adrenelin and their frantic hands worked in tandem, quickly bringing them closer to the edge. Jerking movements, thumbs running over weeping slits on each upstroke, hips thrusting forward. Feeling his climax building, Ron reached behind Harry’s head with his free hand and felt for the chain still attached to Harry’s collar.

Wrapping it around his fist he leant up on his elbow and pulled on the chain, forcing Harry’s head back. Harry gasped and their eyes met and locked as their climaxes ripped though their bodies and milky-white streams covered their hands and caught the candle light in the darkened room.

Dropping the chain he cupped Harry’s face gently between his long fingers and then pushed them into his hair, but Harry flinched as Ron touched the back of his skull, where Pettigrew had hit him.

“Sorry, Harry, sorry.” They looked at each other, breathing heavily but eyes sparkling. “We should go back, Harry. It’s nearly morning. No one knows where I went – I am going to be in such trouble. And we have to get you up the ladder, and get Wormtail to the Aurors. Maybe you should stay with him while I Apparate for help.”

“But Ron, when it’s over…” Harry looked away.

“What’s wrong?”

“When it’s over, you and me?”

“Together, Harry. Forever.”