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Chapter Text

After some consideration (and, admittedly, procrastination), I have finally decided to post There and Back Again in AO3 as well.  If any of you have read this in FF.net, you will know that this has lots of chapters ahead over there, but I plan to migrate the whole fanfic here as well.  Hopefully, TBA will be able to catch up before the end of first quarter 2021.

Also, I plan to add artwork (like the HP novels) per chapter.  I can do it myself, but it might take a while before I get anything decent done.  If anyone would like to contribute, feel free to reach out to me by AO3, FF.net (Chuchi Otaku) or by Tumblr (chuchiotaku.tumblr.com).  

Thank you!

General Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter in any shape or form. The honor goes to Ms. J.K. Rowling.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Ron felt a surge of hope.

His situation was no less bleak than when the whole war began, of course, when the whole mess is in full, twisted swing. The Death Eaters are still relentless in their attack, and some part of his mind was aware of friends and acquaintances falling over like flies in the background. Even Hogwarts is crumbling apart from the destruction and death bombarding it on all sides.

But behind the death and gloom hanging in the air like a thick curtain were all important slivers of small triumphs.

They were finally turning things around. It may have nearly killed them in the process, but he, Harry and Hermione were finally able to destroy the horcrux in Ravenclaw's diadem. He and Hermione were able to destroy the horcrux in Hupplepuff's cup earlier as well. Now all they need is to kill that snake and Harry can finally beat You-Know-Who and end this stupid war!

Best of all, after years of estrangement and in the middle of the raging battle, the Weasley family was finally complete again.

When he first saw his older brother Percy stumbling into the Great Hall before them, a disbelieving Ron thought he had every right to feel righteously angry and cruelly smug, that, after all this time, just when his precious Ministry of Magic had all but crumbled to nothing would Percy come crawling back to the family he essentially abandoned, tail between his legs and begging for the forgiveness and acceptance he did not deserve.

But then, face to face with the Weasley's lost son, Ron felt none of those things, nothing but overwhelming relief and a touch of happiness. The stony wall that was his face will not betray it, but Ron was grateful that Percy had returned because, pompous git or not, he was family and if there's one thing Ron learned throughout all this is that you should never give up on family or the ones you love even if they made the most horrid mistakes.

Harry and Hermione taught him that much.

Besides, deep down, a huge part of Ron really did miss his older brother, posh talk, awkward know-it-all-isms and all that, just like the rest of his family. The easy way Fred and George shook off past hurts like it never happened proved it.

It was with a united front that the Weasleys are up and showing the Death Eaters who's boss, and by Merlin, Ron will do everything he can to make sure that nothing will break up his family—Harry and Hermione included—ever again.

Not if he had anything to say about it!

So when the sight of Death Eaters tearing past one of the walls of Hogwarts and coming for Percy and Fred came to view, Ron was quick to his feet, wand aloft.

Stay away from my family, you sick motherfuckers!

"STUPEFY!"

A jet of light zoomed past Fred's head, hitting a masked Death Eater square on the chest.

"Nice shot, Ronnie!" Fred, ever the tease even in the midst of a death defying battle, laughed as he raised his own wand at several opponents. "Relashio!"

"Come on!" Harry shouted after a quick hex on a couple of Death Eaters. "We have to move!"

"Go on! We'll hold them off!" From Ron's periphery, he saw Percy fire a couple of jinxes to one of their attackers. The hood slipped from the man's face as he reeled back from Percy's attack, revealing a long face and streaked hair.

Thicknesse! Ron snarled in recognition.

"Hello Minister!" Percy shouted over another neatly fired jinx straight to the man's chest. "Did I mention I'm resigning?"

"You're joking, Perce!" Fred shouted, struggling to stand after beating several Death Eaters at the price of three stunning spells to his limbs. He and Ron had to crack a grin at the sight of Thicknesse growing spines all over his body like a sea urchin. "You actually are joking, Perce…I don't think I've heard you joke since you were—"

Then it happened.

Ron didn't know why, or how he knew where to look, other than it felt like a pull to the back of his neck when he saw it: a Death Eater aiming an unsteady wand with a roar of "Bombarda Maxima!"

The wand was so wobbly that it barely missed Fred, but to Ron's horror, the spell hit the wall right above his brother's head instead, and with a loud boom, the wall heaved.

The world seemingly slowed down, the sounds of spells and screams muted by the roar of anguish and desperation ringing in his ears, as he willed his legs to move, to do anything to reach his brother who was smiling without a care, not knowing the threat of death careening from above.

No, no, not now! Not when his family was finally together again! Not when they were so close to winning this damnable war!

"Fred!"

And then several things happened at once: Ron felt himself hit solid warmth that was quickly knocked out of the way, heard a loud grunt followed by a forceful slam of something hard, cold and heavy, blinding pain, smothering darkness and a chorus of terrified screams.

"RON!"

The world, for some reason, was awfully quiet.

It was the first thing Ron became aware of as the consciousness ebbed back into his senses. He lying facedown, his body oddly light yet too weak to move and his cheek pressed against a smooth, cool surface that reminded him of marble.

Wait, marble?

"Weasley."

W—what? Ron's heart did a lurch at the familiar tone, flat and unfeeling. That voice, it can't be…?

The hem of black robes came to view just as Ron managed to roll off the floor into a sitting position to meet a pair of gazing twin dark pools. "S—Snape?!"

Right before Ron stood his old potions Professor who appeared quite different somehow. If anything, Snape looked a bit younger but there was no mistaking the perpetual scowl or the hard lines that came with it marring the sallow, gaunt face and greasy shoulder length black hair.

"The displeasure is mutual, Weasley, I can assure you." Severus Snape drawled, his voice now colored with obvious disdain.

"But, but what are you doing here?" Ron spluttered, unconsciously backing away from the tall bat-like man. "And where the bloody hell are we, anyway?"

"I would not know, Weasley, you tell me." Snape said curtly before his face curled to distaste. "And for Merlin's sake, put some clothes on!"

"What are you—?" It was then that Ron realized, looking down, that he was indeed naked. Right in front of Snape! Holy shit, what he wouldn't kill for even just a decent robe right about now.

But as quickly as he thought it, a simple red robe appeared out of nowhere, draping his shoulders. Bug eyed but not the one to question what was shielding what remained of his dignity, Ron quickly pulled it closer. "What the hell was that about?"

Snape sighed from his hooked nose. "We are in the recesses of your consciousness, you fool. Should you not know more about your own mind than me?"

"Consciousness? My own mind?" Ron echoed while turning his head, recognizing his surroundings for the first time, alternating squares of black and white as far as the eye can see with two stone doors and two rows of familiar statuesque pieces on either end. "Is this a chess set?"

"Your power of deduction is astounding." Snape answered dryly.

Ron ignored him. "But if we're in my head, then what are you doing here? You're one of the last people on Earth I'd ever want to dream about!"

"I said that this is within your own mind, Weasley, not that I was a part of it." Snape drawled. "As for why I am here, it is primarily because we share the same miserable state."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

Snape groaned. "Think, Weasley. Where are you really supposed to be?"

Ron frowned as he strained his mind to remember. Where am I supposed to be? The last thing I remember was being in the Room of Requirement, finding the Diadem, the Fiendfyre, the Death Eaters, Percy and Fred…

"FRED!" Ron cried out as the memories all came rushing back to him. "Bloody hell, Fred! The wall and that Death Eater—what happened?! I have to know if he's OK."

"Calm down, Weasley. Your brother is safe, considering the circumstances, which is more than I can say for you." Snape said coolly.

"He's…OK?"

"I don't like repeating myself, Weasley."

"Oh thank Merlin!" Ron said happily, again ignoring Snape's irritated snap. "For a minute, I thought I was too late. But not that I'm not happy about it, but that still doesn't explain why I'm here."

There was a pause before Snape replied. "You are here because unlike your brother, no one was able to save you."

Ron felt like he was dropped in a bucket of iced water. "What?"

"You were able to push him out of the way of the wall, but in turn, caused the debris to fall onto you instead." Snape elaborated, his voice uncharacteristically something akin to gentle. "Potter and your friends were able to retrieve you from the rubble, but by then it was far too late."

The air around them seemed to ripple, and then, before Ron, a scene flashed: Harry, Hermione and his brothers kneeling around Ron's fallen form caked with dust and crimson from a huge head wound, blue eyes fixed unseeingly to the sky.

The voices that came with the sight were garbled, but the emotion behind them was undeniable.

"No—no—no!" The anguish in Percy's voice made Ron's knees quake. "No! Ron! No!"

"Don't you dare do this, Ronnie!" Fred—his strong, witty and at times cruelly mischievous brother—reduced to a sobbing, hysterical mess. "If this is one fucked up joke, I swear I'm going to—! Fuck it all, this can't be—"

Hermione was gripping Ron's cold hand with a wail not unlike that of a wounded animal's. And Harry, the hope of the Wizarding World who lost far too much for its sake, was far too still, wand clenched in his fist, his eyes shining but unyielding of their tears, seemingly unaware of the war erupting around them.

No, Harry, please! Ron found himself begging at his best friend's reflection. "Snap out of it, Harry! Get them out of here. There's nothing you can do for me but you can still save them! Get them out!"

Another loud boom pierced the air before Harry had seemingly heard Ron's pleas. "Fred, Percy…we have to go. We can't do anything for him. We're going to—!"

"NO! We're not leaving him!" Percy cried back. "Ronnie, oh Merlin, Ronnie, please—!"

"Stupefy!" Hermione screamed, whipping her wand to fire at an incoming arcomantula. To the group's horror, more spiders came running out of the hole in the wall, all gigantic with jerky legs and flashing pincers.

"Let's move, NOW!" Ron watched dazedly as Harry pushed Hermione forward before dragging Ron's limp body by the armpits away from the fallen rock and giant spiders.

He watched with watery eyes as Percy and Fred helped Harry lay his body at a protected niche, watched as Percy laid a trembling hand on his face with a choked sob while Fred whirled around with an air of a raging bull looking for a target.

It took only a second.

"ROOKWOOD!" Fred roared, tearing off to the direction of the tall Death Eater at the distance, ignoring Hermione's cries, with Percy on his heels not a moment later. Both brothers' wands were at the ready and their eyes burning with a dangerous cacophony of rage and grief.

"NO! Damn it, Fred, Perce, you bloody prats!" Ron screamed in the reflection but to no avail. The last thing he saw was Percy and Fred firing hexes at the stunned Rookwood before the memory faded. Ron hardly noticed as he sank to the floor, arms around his trembling form, the horrid reality of his situation crushing at his very soul.

He was dead. Ronald Bilius Weasley was dead.

And he had never felt so barren of hope.

Soooo what do you all think?  Should I continue the migration?  Any comments/suggestions from you lovely people of AO3?

For my readers in FF.net, a huge thank you to you all!  TBA would not have made it this far without your support.

Also, many thanks to my beta, a.c.nelli, for their invaluable help!  But it will be a while before the chapters they beta-ed will be posted here.

(And for my Pendragon readers, the next chapter will be up soon.  I promise. I'm working on it. Sorry for the delay. 🤦)

UP NEXT:
So Ron is dead, and stuck with Snape in the afterlife. Or is he? Two things that can be said: Snape isn't a happy camper, and fate is far from done with our favorite gangly redhead.

Chapter Text

Err, hi? It's been a while? *hides behind chair*

I deeply apologize for the delay for this chapter. For some reason, I developed a severe case of writer's block for this one and could not make it past the first two paragraphs for the longest time. Very bad Chuchi, I know, and I thank you guys for your patience with me on this one.

On a brighter note, many, many thanks to those who gave this story a try. I am truly honored and I hope you guys will love what's coming next. This next chapter will be rather long to make up for the months that have passed without an update. Once again, reviews and suggestions are highly appreciated.

Flames will be used to roast marshmallows for my s'mores.

I'm…dead?

Ron didn't know how long he had been on the ground, on all fours, mouth agape in wordless gasping. He wasn't aware of anything save for the one dreadful thought bouncing back and forth in his head.

I'm dead?

It wasn't that he was completely unprepared for the possibility. Granted, he was not the type to think over death and dying—or anything remotely deep, for that matter—, but considering that he was at war where the chances of dying were rather high, Ron had somewhat come into terms with it possibly happening.

Keyword being somewhat.

Life, however, had other ideas. And this, this by far, was one of the grandest it has had so far in the fuckiest uppest sense.

"How long are you planning to sit there gaping like a miserable fool, Weasley?"

I'm dead and stuck with Snivellus FUCKING Snape, of all people?!

That kicked Ron's infamous temper back into action. "Well, what were you expecting me to do? Break into a dance singing about rainbows and pygmy puffs?!"

But Snape merely stared stonily at the younger wizard, making Ron's face burn bright red with gnashed teeth at the lack of response. "I just found out I died, you greasy arsehole! Dead as a bloody doornail, without getting past eighteen and hardy worth anything!"

"Weasley—"

"I wanted to get a good job. I was gonna help everyone rebuild. I wanted to settle down with her!" Ron jabbed his index finger harshly at his former professor with each statement. "But because of your bloody war and that bastard of a half-blood Voldemort, I've lost all that and now my friends and family are still fighting while I'm stuck in this rut with you of all people being an useless sod. An utterly. Absolutely. Useless. SOD!"

A tense pause hung heavily in the air for too long before Ron turned away from Snape with a hand pressed to his scrunched up face and his burning eyes.

No he was not going to cry. He was not going to cry in front of the greasy old bat! He was a Gryffindor and a Weasley, goddamnit! And Gryffindors and Weasleys are never weak, snivelling crybabies—!

"Had enough yet, Weasley?"

Oh, Snape just gets off from being the world's biggest dickhead, doesn't he? Ron snarled darkly. "Why you—you one big son of a—!"

But the older man's wand was at his throat in a matter of seconds. "If you wish not to be hexed to oblivion then awaken in a full body bind, I suggest you keep that tongue of yours in check. I've been gracious enough to allow you your previous tantrum. Do not think that I would be willing to suffer another second of it."

"Do your worst, you bastard!" Ron growled back with every bit of fury he could muster. "As if there's something you can do that can change anything! You can't make me any worse off than I already am so go right ahead, you traitorous git!"

Blazing blue challenged bottomless black in what seemed like forever before Snape spoke again. "Then would you rather have it the other way?"

The almost softness in the other man's voice threw Ron for a loop. "H-huh?"

"You are here because you made the choice of saving your brother over watching him die." Snape clarified with a stony expression. "Are you beginning to regret that decision now? Would you rather have him here in your place so you could live that life you think this war has stolen from you?"

"What the hell? Of course not, I—!" At that, all of the fight seemingly banished from Ron's body.

That's right. Ron was dead and here because he saved Fred—the usually bloody insufferable yet incredibly witty, just as talented and at times, remarkably insightful and obnoxiously protective arse Fred. The guy may have been a right git to him for much of his life, but Fred was Ron's brother and Ron would give his life for any of his brothers in a heartbeat.

And, all things considered in hindsight and all honesty, Ron was sort of glad that it was him who died instead of Fred. Ron may have his own dreams and wants for a long life ahead, but Fred had what it took to reach further, do far more, than the youngest Weasley boy ever could…

SNAP!

Ron gasped when he felt the sharp slap of Snape's wand against his face. "OW! Hey, what—?!"

"Playing hero to save your brother may have been so utterly Gryffindor it is sickening, but you spitting on the very sacrifice you made is even more unbearably pathetic!" Snape cut in coldly, jabbing his wand back under Ron's chin. "You dove headfirst into this war as an of age fighter so at least show some iota of maturity! And instead of whining like a miserable child over what you have lost, open your eyes to what is around you. Then you might actually see what there is that you can still do something about."

Ron blinked owlishly then creased his eyebrows. "What I can—? Last time I checked, Snape, I'm already dead so unless there is something I can do down here that can somehow help everyone fight this war, then the most I can be is a ghost. And we both know how awfully useful ghosts are!"

But then again, an impish side of the red head piped up, as a ghost, I can float around like a Peeves exclusive to Death Eaters. I mean, I don't know if I can kill anyone, but at least I can make things harder for them. Prank them, chuck some dungbombs or something…

"If you would reign that temper in, I might actually get to the point of why I am here in this abominable pit you call your mind." Snape snapped.

Ron was thrown for another loop. Right, that reminded him… "Wait, what ARE you doing here, anyway? If I wouldn't even want to dream about you, then you're not really the first person in my list who I'd want to see when I die." And to be honest, you're pretty much not there.

Snape snorted at that. "And if you haven't been busy throwing a fit over everything without waiting for an explanation, you might have noticed that I never said that you were actually dead."

Ron felt his chest twist so tightly that he felt that he couldn't breathe for a second. "What do you mean—? I'm not—I'm not—?"

"You are not dead, Weasley." Snape said after what felt like forever. "At least, not in the fullest sense of the word."

The marble hallway was so quiet that not even Ron's uneven breathing could be heard. But the younger wizard hardly noticed.

"I—I'm not dead?" Ron croaked, reduced to a gasping fit for the second time that hour. "I'm not—but how am I—? I saw—that time you showed me! The wall, I—I got Fred out! The wall fell on me! My head was leaking blood like a busted faucet and, hell, I wasn't even breathing! So how—?"

"When you are not running your mouth because of your atrocious temper, it will be because of your theatrics." If Snape were any less…Snape-ish, the man would have rolled his eyes at Ron's slipping and sliding jaw and shot up brows. "Have you ever thought that exerting more in controlling yourself and just listening may have worked for you better in the long run? That I may have gotten to my point sooner, for instance?"

Ron's cheeks immediately flared, both from anger and embarrassment. While he had to concede, grudgingly, that Snape had a point, does the guy really have to be such a dick about it?

Oh, right, I forgot who I was talking to for a second.

"You are not truly dead, Weasley, but you are not fully alive either." Snape went on, seeing that Ron was properly chastised. "As you have just witnessed, you have known physical death. Have been for more than an hour, based on what I have seen. However, your soul is still tethered to your body, albeit barely. This place is a representation of both your subconscious and the limbo, or the realm where souls neither dead nor alive remain until they cross a side."

Ron blinked when Snape finished, more confused than ever. "Is that even possible? Can someone really end up being not being completely dead? Can it happen to anybody? Wait, does that mean you are not dead too?"

Snape pursed his lips, making Ron momentarily worried that the man wouldn't explain further. "…It does not happen as often as many would like, for this realm, and everything that falls under it, is governed by something not entirely magical."

"Which is?"

"Some, like us, would claim that it is Death. Others would call it a God, or even fate or destiny. But what can be agreed upon is that it is a higher being that rules over life, how long one lives as well as when and how he will ultimately end. Many wizards may try to defy It, but Its design is undeniable.

"However, there are rare instances wherein that which that very design is…altered." Snape paused almost dramatically. "Instances such as yours."

Ron started when Snape's gaze bore directly into his. "Err, what?"

"Simply put, it is not your time to die yet. If it is anyone's, it was your brother, Fred Weasley's." Snape continued, ignoring the angry cry from the younger wizard. "However, you took the fall for him. For some reason, that put such a huge upset in the higher being's will that It deemed to give you a form of a second chance."

A second chance? Ron felt the stirrings of hope in his chest. "You mean, I can—I can go back? I can really come back to life again?"

"Your soul will be permitted to return to your body as if it had never left." The ginger haired teen would have whooped with joy if not for Snape's following statement. "But it will not be without a price."

"Price?" Ron repeated, the smile building in his face immediately dropping at that.

Snape pointed, and Ron turned to see a heavy looking stone door beyond the white chess pieces. "That door will lead you back to the land of the living, but once you make that choice, It will demand a form of compensation. You have known death in this realm, therefore, in order for you to return to the living, someone else must take your place.

"In other words, you will come back to life, and Death will take the soul of the one who should have died all along."

"You mean Fred?!" Ron gasped, wheeling around to glare at Snape. "Like I'll let that happen! I died so that my brother wouldn't, remember? What makes you or It think that I'll be fine with Fred taking my place?"

"Even if it would mean truly dying?" Snape asked with an arched brow. "Were you not whining earlier about everything you have lost by being dead? This is an opportunity for you to get everything back, and if I know you Gryffindor fools, I am sure your brother would be a willing sacrifice, as it was he who was meant to die, after all."

Ron did not even need a moment to think it over.

The prospect of returning to life, to be with his friends and family again, to see to the dreams he long held onto, was absolutely tempting. But if it meant losing Fred in the process, then Ron would rather stay dead. Nothing would be worth losing any of his friends or family.

"You can tell Death, God, Fate or whoever the hell It is that he can take his offer for me to come back in exchange for Fred and shove it up where the sun doesn't shine." Ron snarled with another finger jab at Snape. "I'm not going back if it would mean killing off Fred and that's that! You and It will just have to put up with me raising hell among you dead people because I'm not going anywhere!"

The hall was quiet again, and Ron waited with bated breath for the inevitable of Snape (or even Death Itself) whisking him to the afterlife and forever bar him from seeing his loved ones again until it was time for them to cross over.

An excruciating standstill until Snape spoke.

"Do you recognize where we are? What your limbo has taken form of?"

Well, that was unexpected. Nevertheless, Ron answered. "Err, I think this is the hall for McGonagall's trial? Back in First Year, to protect the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Then you also recall that this hall has two doors, correct?"

"Well, duh. The one beyond the white pieces is the exit and the other one's where we came from." Ron shrugged, eyeing Snape strangely. "Why are you asking?"

"For everyone who passes through the limbo, the room that manifests becomes symbolic of both a turning point in their lives and the choices available to them. There is this one…" Snape hesitated as his face morphed a particularly sour look.

"His limbo was in a form of a train station, and his two choices involve boarding the train that will lead him to the afterlife or cross the barrier to return to the land of the living. Those are his choices because his fate could go either way: it was his time to die, yet he is also free to return.

"But for your case, you also have two choices. The white door," Snape pointed to the stone archway behind Ron. "As it is your way forward to the present you have missed, would have returned you to the land of the living. It would have been the most likely option at first glance, but it is not the only one available."

"The door behind the black pieces?" Ron glanced to the door that had been in the past the way by which he, Harry and Hermione entered McGonagall's transfigured chessboard.

"I do not know where that door will lead." Snape confessed, making Ron's gaze turn back to him. "What I am certain is that that door will definitely not lead you to death. The limbo is also connected to other realities, much like how a trunk of a tree is still connected to all its branches.

"Though, theoretically, I would wager that that door would lead you…back."

"Back?" Ron echoed. "What do you mean back?"

"Use your head, Weasley." Snape snapped irritably. "If one door will lead you forward to the present, bypassing all the events that you have missed while you were dead, what can a door that does the opposite do?"

Ron scrunched his forehead in several seconds of thought before finally, finally, something clicked. "W-wait, you can't mean—?"

"Of course, this is all merely theory. I have no way of proving what I have just said nor do I care enough to try." Snape waved a hand. "But for someone who has the chance to regain his life and even change certain things for the better, if you are half the reckless pighead that your friend Potter is, I don't see why you wouldn't try."

"Don't call Harry a pighead, you git!" Ron snapped as he crossed his arms. "And why should I trust you? For all you know, you could be leading me into a trap! Just like how you tricked Dumbledore back at that tower!"

Snape's expression clearly screamed 'What sort of idiot did you leave me to deal with, Death?' when he replied. "If you continue to distrust me, then that is your choice. Whether you pick your own death, your brother's or another path entirely is not my concern. I am merely a guide that for some reason, was thought to be most appropriate for you. Whichever allegiance I may have had during the war will matter little here. As you have mentioned, I cannot make you any more dead than you already are, seeing as we are both ghosts."

"So you're actually—?"

"Yes, Weasley, I am already dead. I have long come to terms with it, but if I had the chance to go back, if I had the opportunity you have now, even if the possibility is so close to non-existent," Snape's lips curled downwards. "A man with too many regrets and nothing to lose would have taken it."

As the black haired man took a moment to draw a ragged breath, Ron suddenly found himself seeing the Death Eater in a different light. Back in his Hogwarts days, Snape had been nothing more than a sour bully of a Potions professor who played favorites blatantly, obsessed over taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position for ages and was horrible to Harry and his friends at any given opportunity.

Not to say that Ron had conveniently forgotten what a foul arse Snape had been, but seeing the usually stoic, hard-faced man's mask crumble the slightest bit for traces of grief, pain and—dare Ron say it—longing to ease through…

Maybe there was more to Snape than Ron previously thought. Still, that doesn't answer Ron's final question.

"So why are you helping me?" Ron managed to voice it out. "You said it wouldn't matter to you no matter what choice I make. Then why is it as if you're trying to convince me to take that other door?"

Snape eyed Ron carefully before grunting. "My reasons are my own, and I do not owe you any explanation for them. I will however suggest that you learn something from what I have been telling you thus far and think over your decision carefully, for I will not give you another opportunity to change your mind. Now make your choice, Ronald Weasley, and make sure that you will not regret it."

The young wizard closed his eyes momentarily and begun weighing his options. Screw what Snape thinks or actually trust the man who may be more than just the traitor who killed Dumbledore?

Death or a possible chance to change the future and possibly save lives?

To die a miserable hero's death or becoming something more?

Ron's feet moved on their own before he had fully grasped where he was headed, but made no move to stop them.

He had already made his decision, because Snape was right. And all things considered, this was really the only way to—

SCHING!

"Woah, what the—?!" Ron barely managed to back away when the black pawns drew their swords to block his way to the backdoor. "Snape!"

And the old greasy bat—damn him!—had the gall to sneer dryly. "While I applaud that you have finally made a decision, I never said choosing that door would be that easy. After all, were you not initially on the white side of this board?"

Ron gulped when the reality of the statement hit him as he gazed warily at the black pieces, particularly their tall, sword bearing Queen.

"Bloody hell…"

Ehehe, you guys didn't think it would be that easy too, did you?

It might seem that this prologue appears rather dragging, but there is a method behind my madness. I'm hoping to teach Ron a lot of things over the course of this fanfic and this upcoming fight will be an opportunity to teach one of them. So what do you guys think? Am I doing OK so far? I'd love to hear your thoughts. Reviews are golden!

Also of note, I am not British. I do try my best to write out this fanfic with their culture and language in mind (time appropriate, of course), I may miss out on some things that may offend British sensibilities. I apologize for that and would love to be corrected about it, if knowledgeable readers have the time. If not, I hope you will bear with me. Again. *sweatdrop*

Hopefully, I won't take too long with the next chapter. Until then, I wish you guys all the best and many thanks again for reading!

UP NEXT: So, yes, Ron, choosing the road less taken has never been easy. But is he up to the challenge of sticking to his wands, so to speak, when his opponent has some mean tricks up Its sleeves? And who is Ron's opponent anyway? Also, what's this, Snape and Ron actually getting along...ish?

Chapter Text

Ron was seven years old when Grandpa Weasley taught him to play chess.

It was like a rite of passage for all Weasleys to learn the game from their patriarch. But since his father was often busy with his job at the Ministry, among other things, the responsibility fell to Grandpa instead.

Ron had looked forward to it for years since the first time he saw Percy play against Bill when he was five. Everyone else told him he would be taught once he reached ten, a year before Hogwarts. Yet Grandpa taught him when he was merely seven. At the time, Ron had been ecstatic; but as he grew older, Ron began pondering why he was taught chess earlier.

As far as Ron could remember, he had always been in the background, never had a chance of standing out compared to his more talented and vibrant siblings.

So what made Grandpa think that Ron could learn chess earlier than the rest of the family? What made him think that Ron had what it takes to master the game?

(And he did. Splendidly, in fact. Didn't even take a year before no one in the family could beat Ron in the game again.)

What did Grandpa see that Ron himself—along with everyone else—did not?

"Weasley." Snape's voice drew him away from the warm memories of his grandfather. Instead, Ron was back in the cold marble hallway, his face inches away from the drawn swords of a tall black stone pawn.

Oh right, this was going on.

"If you are going to spend another minute gawking like a brain damaged fool," Snape again. "I will resort to hexing every inch of your body into all the colors of the rainbow and, believe me, I will revel in every second of it."

"Sod off, bastard!" Ron snapped angrily, pointing an accusing finger at the greasy man. "Why the hell didn't you warn me about this? You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?"

"I wouldn't claim to know, but merely…anticipated, seeing as I have mentioned that you started off on the white side of the board." Snape answered smoothly, though he did wrinkle his nose at Ron's wild gesture.

"Still, a little warning would have been nice!"

"I fail to see how that could have changed anything. It will certainly not change the fact that you will have to play across. " said Snape. "Personally, I see this as a golden opportunity. Minerva and I may have had our differences, but I do not question that she is one of the greatest chess masters Hogwarts has known, second perhaps to only to Dumbledore himself.

"The idea that someone like you—in your first year, no less—could match wits with her and win, it is something I should see with my own eyes."

Ron bristled, ready for a tirade, but Snape ignored him in favor of walking off the chess board with a flourish of black robes.

"Try to give it some actual effort, Weasley," Snape finished, facing Ron with a twisted lip that appeared as smug as the older wizard sounded. "Or perhaps your previous victory was a mere fluke?"

"Arse." Ron hissed half-heartedly. In reality, the red head was worrying over the same train of thought.

Hermione once said that not a lot of wizards have an ounce of logic. But in chess, logic is needed by the pounds, and safe to say McGonagall had loads upon loads. Winning against her had taken every bit of his knowledge and experience in chess to plan three moves ahead, not including the number of contingencies behind contingencies for each possible opposing play. How he managed to keep track of all that while being burdened by the responsibility of keeping his friends safe and the knowledge that failing could mean Voldemort's resurrection was beyond the teen.

But somehow I have to do it all over again. Ron thought, his gut twisting in unease. I have to win this or else this is the end for me. I'd take me over Fred dying any day, sure, but it's not like I'm in a hurry to go myself…

Ron walked nervously to the white side of the board, at the foot of the white king. "Uhm, hullo. Looks like I'll be fighting with you guys this time. So, err, no hard feelings for what happened years ago? If you guys actually remember that?"

Thankfully, all the white pieces inclined their heads in assent. Ron then swallowed the lump in his throat. "Right. So I need to take another piece's place, right? Then I guess I'll be…"

The red head scanned the white pieces momentarily, though he already knew what piece he'd choose. Ever since he learned to play, the knight has always claimed a special place in Ron's heart. There was something about its unique way of darting around the board and jumping over pieces that fascinated him, not to mention that a knight's image has always looked so cool.

But before Ron could choose which knight to play as, the white king suddenly turned around and slid off the board.

"W—wait, what are you—?" Ron made a step, as if to stop the retreating king, when the stone piece turned to face him and raised its staff to tap its square. The teen doubled back in realization. "You've gotta be—! You—you want me to be the king?"

"Merlin's beard, Weasley, it cannot be any more apparent." Said Snape derisively, receiving a scowl from the red head in return. "Are you finally going to play or are you still planning to dawdle about it for all eternity?"

The red head sent a scowl but kept quiet. It's not that he doesn't have a point. Ron had to concede, chewing his bottom lip while hurriedly making his way to the white king's square.

He might as well get started. White always plays first in chess, after all.

Ron tapped his chin thoughtfully before calling out, "Pawn to E-4!"

A second passed before the appropriate pawn moved and slid to the ordered square. Another few passed before the black pieces—a fellow pawn—inched to meet Ron's.

Ron didn't miss a beat. "Pawn to D-4."

The minutes wore on as Ron directed his white pieces to position, opening space to set up his defenses while attempting to read where his opponent was planning to defend as well.

Since most of its major pieces from that part are already in play, the black's definitely going to castle from the king side. Ron then winced when a black pawn moved forward, effectively blocking his white square bishop. Well, two can play at that game.

"Bishop to H-6!"

The said piece seemed to take a moment longer than usual to move, and Ron couldn't blame it; technically, he was sending the bishop to die.

But it had to be done—one of the black bishops was poised to take an important square that could penetrate Ron's plan to castle and defend at the queen side. And if he moved right, it could also be an opportunity for Ron to crack the black side's own defense.

Now let's see if it will take the bait… Ron watched, the sound of ticking filling his head, before the black bishop turned to his own with a raised staff. The black piece hit its mark, and his poor white bishop had a huge chunk of marble blasted of its flank before it was pummeled to pieces.

Ron winced internally. That was way more violent than he had anticipated…

But when a particularly large block fell, a booming voice rang in his ears like a gong.

Wᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜɪɴᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ…

Ron whipped his head around, a bemused croak lodged in his throat. "Wait, what? Who said—? Where did that—?"

Aɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ, ɪᴛ ɪs ᴏᴜʀs.

Eerily light yet commanding, it would have made him think of You-Know-Who except the tone did not contain an obvious hint of malice.

And then came a flash of brilliant, eye burning light.

"Oooh, lookie at we have here, Gred!"

"Why, Forge, if it isn't—"

"Ickle Ronniekins, I reckon?"

Huh? Was that Fred? George? Ron was utterly confused, his eyes still dotted by whites and occasional spots. Wh—where are they? And why do they sound so…?

"And what you got there, Ronnie?"

"Making a new friend?"

A wave of hurt and terror passed through Ron before he could even finish the thought, making the teen gasp and double over. He cupped a hand to his face upon feeling moisture on his cheek. Tears? Why was he crying, and didn't his face feel smaller, rounder, than it should be?

And in front of him, with its many hairy limbs clicking pincers!

His vision then decided to make a sudden comeback, and the white was replaced by a multitude of rolling, blinking black beads on top of gangling legs.

"Ah! Yaaagh!" Ron heard himself scream in terror. "Fred! George! Help! Help!"

"Aww come on, Ronnie!" Fred's shill jeering came from Ron's left. "Aren't you s'pose to be all grown up?"

"It's just an itsy bitsy spider!" Seconded George.

NOOO! Ron felt his body curl all the way in, his hands covering his ears. Fred! George! Please just stop! His teddy. Oh Merlin, what had they done his teddy?!

"Oi, no need to get your pants in a bunch, Ronnie! That ain't scary at all!"

"Unless he's a girl under those pants, eh?"

"Quite right, Forge!"

"'Cause there's no way a real boy's gonna be scared of a little spider!"

The hairy leg was crawling to Ron's front. Stop it!

He could already hear the clicking pincers and the wet blinking of beady eyes. STOP IT!

And Fred and George just kept laughing. Laughing at his tears. Laughing at his misery. Laughing at the joke they made out of him.

"Silly Ronnie! Itsy bitsy—"

"Crybaby Wonniekins—!"

"AHAHAHAAHAHAHA—!"

I SAID—!

"—STOP!" Ron was barely able to catch himself from falling over the visual assault that had gone for only a moment, but it felt far too long.

A vision? Ron thought as he dry heaved. No, it was a memory. When Fred and George turned my teddy into a spider. It was why I became so shite scared of spiders in the first place!

But why? It doesn't make sense! Where did that even come from?

"Weasley!" Ron's head snapped up, meeting gazes with Snape on the other side of the board. The man's nostrils were flared and his eyes alight. But for some reason, Ron knew the man wasn't angry, or at least angry at him. If anything, Snape actually looked…concerned?

Ron shook the thought off. It was as ridiculous as it sounded. "I—I'm fine, just got winded or something."

The game. Ron forced himself back to focus. Get your head back in the game, Ronald! It hasn't even started properly yet! "Queen to H-6!"

Whatever that was, Ron thought frantically, half mindedly registering his queen move to her designated square. That memory, vision or something, it must have been a trick to throw me off! Fuck, as if chess wasn't hard enough on its own! But what could have triggered it in the first place?

Ron didn't have to wait long to find out.

Because he was sure as hell that the queen had gone to attack the black bishop. But then all of a sudden, as quick as a blink, the tall imposing figure was replaced by a smaller, petite one. A very familiar figure who had taken a step back because of the lance sticking out of its chest.

Ron didn't even have time to gasp when shocked, tear-stained honey eyes met his shrunken blues.

"…WonWon?" And then the room was again filled with white.

Smoke. It smelled of burnt flesh and something sharp and funny, like rubber.

The ground was a blur of gray, and the air, a cacophony of screams.

Long brown hair, a petite feminine figure marred with blood and torn flesh. Blank eyes staring to the ceiling. A face he knew far too well.

"Weasley!"

Ron screamed as soon as the vision was over, and this time he did fall to his knees with both hands clutching his head.

What is this? What was happening to him?! Why is he having these visions?! Where were they coming from? And what happened to—?

"Get a hold of yourself, you foolish boy!" Ron's shaky gaze caught sight of Snape glowering from the side of the board, a hand curling against the side of wrinkled black robes.

"S—Snape…"

"This is the second time you dramatically could have keeled over the pieces getting destroyed! Do you really expect to win this game if you let a few visions bring you to your knees? "

"But L—Lavender!" Ron would have let that get under his skin, but he was too shocked and in denial about what he had just seen. "It was—she was the black bishop! Didn't you see? The queen, she—she stabbed Lavender right through the chest!"

That seemed to shut up Snape. When he spoke again, it was soft but still sharp. "Brown? The insufferable airheaded Gryffindor, just mauled by Greyback?"

"M-Mauled? By Greyback?"

"And dead soon after." Snape's reply was a bucket of ice down Ron's back. "Greyback attacked her during a moment of distraction. He wasn't transformed, but he was vicious enough to cause serious injuries."

Oh Merlin…Ron felt like he was going to throw up at the revelation. Oh God, Lavender.

While it was true that Ron regretted dating her, he still found her to be a nice enough girl. She had been funny and sweet, albeit in a weird, clingy sort of way, and was the first in a long time to actually value his thoughts and feelings (long, uncomfortable discussions about them aside).

But now she was dead. Dead both in the real world and this chess game turning into a hellish nightmare. Dead in a gruesome manner that she certainly did not deserve.

The image of her chest bloodied by the stone lance that went right through her. The bloodied lips that called out to him in a tone so confused and pained that he may as well have been the one who had stabbed her.

"—keeled over the pieces getting destroyed—"

The pieces! Ron's mind snapped into attention. He almost didn't look up from the fear that he would be seeing his white queen drag his poor friend's battered body across the board.

And was shaken out of his newly regained wits when he saw crumpled black marble instead.

So the bishop turned back…or was I just seeing things? Ron thought faintly.

Seeing things. Visions. Two bishops. Two different pieces. Two different visions.

A vision for every piece? Would some of the pieces turn into someone he knew as well before they…?

Wᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜɪɴᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ. The voice boomed again in Ron's mind. Nᴏᴡ, sʜᴏᴡᴇᴛʜ ᴜs ᴛʜʏ sᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ.

Minutes later, when the game was becoming decidedly heated, Ron would find out just how badly the chess match wanted to have him fucked in the head.

It took several more destroyed pieces for Ron to figure out the pattern. Every white piece destroyed brought back a painful memory of either a raging insecurity or a terrible mistake.

"Did you see—?" "Yeah, I saw him. He's right next to that kid with the red hair." "Who cares about THAT kid? Just tell me all about Harry Potter!"

"Red hair? Freckles? Another Weasley? Your brother, Bill—Head Boy once—wonderful student, good head on his shoulders. And Charlie Weasley? Best seeker Gryffindor's had in a while, err—what was your name again?"

Each memory took hold of his heart as if he was living right at that very moment, forcing the shame, anguish and self-depreciation to the fore as if the past was all brand new.

But the visions that came with fallen black pieces were worse—they were of those who have fallen before and after him during the Battle of Hogwarts. The worst part was that, without fail, the black ones would transform into the victims in his visions before they were cruelly hacked away by the unfeeling white pieces.

Their last words burrowed so deep like acid into his veins he could still hear them long after their bloodied visages faded away.

Ron would have thrown up all of his insides if he could at the mass of dead friends and allies that he had come to find out through the visions.

Colin Creevey, mousy brown hair dotted with blood and grime, small and lonely in death.

"Did I do good, Ron?" A trembling smile and a bloody thumb up even after being pummeled by a pawn's blade.

Cormac McLaggen, ironically crushed by a Quaffle goal post thrown by a raging giant.

"NO! NO! I DON'T WANNA DIE! I DON'T WANNA—! MUUUUMMY!"

"Rook to D-4!" Ron managed to cry out despite the pounding in his head. Not only were these visions mentally and emotionally draining, but they also caused the worst headaches. How many times had he nearly fallen over in exhaustion and pain, only to come back to play because of his determination to live and, unbelievably, Snape snapping him awake?

The headaches and the emotional toll the game was forcing onto him was botching his concentration so horribly that he already had a few slip ups earlier, making him lose some material and precious useful squares in the process. Ron did his best to cut back the losses, but from experience, most of the times a set up mistake in chess was one mistake too many.

And because of his mistakes, he had to make more sacrifices for his new strategy.

Oh Merlin and Morgana shagging in a handbasket! Anticipating another vision, Ron swallowed as the black side took the bait once more. The black pawn cut away Ron's rook, and with it came more visions.

"Oh thank goodness! Thank goodness you're all right!" Arthur and Molly came rushing over to greet Harry, even Hermione, in relief that they hadn't been hurt during the World Cup fiasco. Ron stood from the distance, open armed, burning with embarrassment over the hug he should not have expected he'd get.

"Motherfuck—" Tears burned at Ron's eyes when the last of the vision faded away. Whoever is digging up these memories really have it bad for him. Want to drive him barmy before he could win this game fair and square?

Why did it have to bring that up? Ron wanted to scream and sob, biting on his lip so hard he could taste iron. I'm the least loved. I know it. I get it. Why does everyone have to keep rubbing it in? Isn't it enough that it's already true?

"Least loved by a mother who craved for a daughter…"

"Rook to E-7!" Ron roared out in frustration and anger, angrily swiping at his eyes burning with blue fire. I'm not going to lose. I can't lose. Goddamnit, I'm not going to lose!

But still the pieces won't stop falling.

"Ron, you insensitive, pea brained prat!" Hermione was practically spitting with rage. "You really think Harry, our HARRY, of all people, would do something as stupid as put his name in the Goblet just for attention? For someone who's supposed to be his best friend, you're acting like you don't know him at all! Or a completely selfish idiot! Even both!"

Lupin, defeated by Dolohov's Killing Curse before he had a chance to raise his son.

"Ron" A bloodied Remus gave him a sad smile shortly before the white knight crushed his face under a steeled hoof. "Take care… of Teddy…"

"Hey, Hermione, I've got a—!"
"Not now, Ron we still got this spell to do for class tomorrow, remember?"
"But—! Oi, Harry, I think I—"
"Later, Ron. We still need to get this spell down too! I need to focus!"
"I've been trying to tell you guys, I've figured it—!"
"That's it! Harry, I can't believe I missed something so obvious about this spell!" Hermione interrupted Ron again, pointing at a page about the spell they had been working on for Defense. "We should have done it like this…"
"Wow, Hermione! That's brilliant. Of course you'd be the first to figure it out!" Harry beamed so brightly that he missed Ron's face twisting in hurt, the red head's book flipped open on the exact same page Hermione had shown them just moments ago.

Tonks, fueled by desperation and grief, meeting her end in the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Teddy…oh my Teddy." Tonk's eyes were glazed as she reached out a cut up hand to Ron. "My sweet baby boy…"

A yellow robed girl with long, plaited hair, pinned and stabbed to death by an Arcomantula before Hannah Abbot and Professor Sprout's combined efforts managed to kill the beast.

"I don't want to die. *urgh* Please don't let me *pluhk* die. Hannah. *clob* Professor *thwack* Any…one…"

Ron blinked blearily from his position on the floor, his strength nearly completely sapped. He was pouring all of his effort into maintaining a clear sight of the rest of the board to even bother to stand.

Yet another fallen piece from Ron's side forced another vision into him.

"Mummy! Mummy, I'm bored! Can you come play?"
"Not now, dear. I'm teaching your sister how to cook!"
"Dad?"
"So sorry, Ron, business to do at the back!"
"Err, Fred, George?"
"No can do, Ronniekins. We're kinda busy—"
"Got, eh, stuff to plan that can't plan themselves?"
"P-Perce—?"
"I'm afraid I have some reading to do, Ron. Later, perhaps?"
For a crowed home in a small Burrow, little Ronnie, holding some old toys and a folded chessboard, felt awkward and all alone.

A boy crushed by a pillar from waist down, brown hair and freckles painfully similar to Colin's.

"Big brother…" The freckled boy would choke out with his last breath. "Colin, help me. I…I'm sca…"

Ernie Macmillan fell into the moat and drowned despite brave Justin Finch-Fletchey's efforts to save him. Several other bodies were at the water as well—students, adults, and the familiar face of pitiful Winky.

"It wasn't supposed to be…like this." Ernie choked over a gush of blood as he fell to his knees, a knight's sword sticking out of his gut. "Wh—why? Why—?"

"Merlin, Ron, sod off!" Ginny slapping his hand away. "Just because your love life is shite doesn't mean mine has to be! Didn't I tell you to grow up and leave me alone?!"
"I'm just trying to—!"
"I don't need your protecting! Not from a berk with an emotional range of a teaspoon! It's a wonder Harry and Hermione can stand being around you! Sometimes, I don't even know what they see in you in the first place! Because a prat like you, you definitely do not deserve them!"

The pain was building from inside his skull now, filling it with the feeling that his brain could explode at any time. There was just too much…too many visions. He was dead yet he felt like dying a slow painful death all over again.

Grow a backbone, Weasley! Ron hissed to himself, forcing his body to at least a kneeling position. You set your mind on that second chance of yours. By God, you better fucking finish something you've started for once in your life—!

But then the black queen went to D-5, shattering Ron's white pawn in its wake.

"You're really going to do this? You'd go side with Fudge over us?" Ron's fist shook with anger and hurt. "We're your family, Percy! We are your family!"
"And what, you expect me to side with you and Dumbledore like a blind lamb? Minister Fudge, everyone at work—they believe in me! They gave me a chance to prove my worth and made me feel like I belong somewhere! And that's more than what any of you have ever done for me!"
"You can't actually believe—!"
Percy's eyes, brimming with tears of pain and the fire of a betrayed. "And you, I thought you would be different. I thought we would have something in common. That we could really be brothers!"
"We ARE! I—I am—!"
"But you're just like everyone else! You want to be one of them, the same way you wish you would never have anything to do with me!" An accusing finger shushed Ron's protests. "Admit it! You never wanted me around! Every time I reach out to you, you push me away! Every time I tried to be there for you, you'd rather it be another brother! IF YOU'RE REALLY A GRYFFINDOR, THEN AT LEAST HAVE THE BALLS TO ADMIT THAT YOU WISH WE NEVER WERE!"
"No, that's not—!" The righteous anger became mixed with shame and regret. In hindsight, maybe his wavering stutter was all the answer Percy needed.
"Perce? Perce! Perce, wait! No, come back!" A crack in the blowing wind, and Ronnie was once again alone. "PERCY!"

"R-Rook to E7…" Ron's rook takes out the last enemy bishop standing with decisive force.

Penelope Clearwater, whose body was lacerated in several places including the neck, by cutting curses, while defending a blonde girl wearing Slytherin robes.

"Perce, he…" Curly blonde hair obscured most of her face, but the cloudy grey eyes caught Ron's anyway. "Oh Ron, he loved you so. Please tell him… I always will…"

The black queen crushed the pawn in D5.

Ron's stomach lurched. NO!

"Look at them." The locket's voice slithered unbidden. "Look at your friends, huddled so close without you. They fit so well together. What do you add to their circle that they cannot find for themselves? What do you have to offer? What would a child least loved even by his own family, could hope to gain from anyone else?"

"Least loved by a mother who craved for a daughter."

"Rook. Rook to B7!"

Oh God, why did he think he can do this? The locket was right: what did he have to offer? He wasn't the smart or the strong one. He wasn't the brave or the talented hero. He was just Ron Weasley: the sidekick, the afterthought who just happened to be good at chess.

But now even his talents in chess were getting him nowhere, because his glaring flaws in every other aspect were ruining everything.

Too hot tempered. Too thick headed. Too prejudiced. Too much of anything but good.

The white castle's mace was aloft, menacing in its pose despite being three heads shorter than the black bishop. But when the mace swung, the other piece's form rippled in Ron's vision like water. And when the attack hit, the image turned into the thin, worn out form of a very familiar teenager—one that made Ron's heart squeeze in terror and stole his breath away in denial.

No… Unruly black hair shook from side to side, blood dripping out of the head wound.

No! Emerald green eyes hazed with pain morphed into surprise when they caught sight of him.

"Ron…" The mirage of Harry Potter whispered, voice heavy with guilt, regret and for some unfathomable reason, relief, even as the white rook moved its mace again.

Harry. Oh Merlin, Harry!

His best friend—his first true and treasured friend—smiled sadly. "I'm sorry."

The mace fell. Ron's vision was again blurred away.

And the world was a sea of darkness, trees and a dark robed mob. Some were drawn, others were huddled and shaking. In their ranks, a familiar half giant twisting against his bonds, screaming in protest and tangible terror.

The giant snake's hissing as venomous as her poison. A mad woman on her knees before her God with the tenderness of a lover.

"Harry Potter…" The cold, apathetic voice of Voldemort rose above the tense silence, a bony hand with the Elder wand. "The Boy Who Lived…"

The battered youth shut his eyes without an ounce of fight.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"NOOOO! HARRY!" The red head held out his arm to reach for his friend. But the visage of the black-haired teen fell away just as the vision ended, and only the crumpled block of black marble remained.

Tears poured down Ron's dusty face, drawn with disbelief, as the white pawn carted the black bishop's broken body away. "He can't be dead. There's no way—that can't be real! There's no way he can be dead! That's not how it's supposed to be!"

"Weasley—"

"HE CAN'T BE DEAD, MERLIN FUCKING DAMN IT!" roared Ron at Snape who remained perpetually still. "He was Harry Effing Potter! The Boy Who Lived! Our hope! The Wizarding World's best shot against that undead son of a bitch! He was supposed to kick Voldemort's rotten arse to kingdom come in a blaze of glory! Not—not just waltz into Death Eater grounds and take an Avada Kedavra with open arms!"

"And yet he has." said Snape coldly. "You have witnessed it yourself. Potter presented himself to the Dark Lord, a sacrifice who came to terms with his fate. He knew he had to die and did so willingly. As he was supposed to."

"Supposed to?!" Ron felt his ears burn and his fists clench. "How dare you—!"

"A part of Voldemort's soul is within him, that is why."

The wind was cruelly ripped out of Ron's sails at those words. "Wh—what?"

Snape let out a snort. "I do not see the need for secrecy anymore, since everything has gone to Albus' plan. Well, almost everything."

"But—but you're the one who killed Professor Dumbledore!"

"On his orders, though I will not say that I fully understand why." At that, the older man looked a tad bitter. "Albus always kept his secrets closer than most."

Ron's throat felt oddly thick. "So Dumbledore, he wanted to die?"

"He was on the verge of death." Snape replied. "He had allowed a curse upon himself, and I was only able to delay its progress, just enough time for him to put his affairs in order. You, Potter and Granger were on the center of it, of course. But I, I was something of his executor in his plan for the Dark Lord's ultimate demise."

"And was the attack, back in Privet Drive, part of his plan too?" The red head asked sharply. "What happened to George?"

"It was necessary, for me to maintain my cover with the Dark Lord. Everything else that happened…" Snape let out a tired sigh. "Albus did have some form of safeguard planned. Did you really think Fletcher would have come up with the plan of using Polyjuice as part of your escape on his own?"

Ron inhaled sharply at that. With the chaos going on at the time of Harry's flight from his old house, no one really had the time to think too hard on that. "Imperio?"

"No, I Confunded him. So easy it had almost been laughable."

The pieces flitted into Ron's mind as if they had been Accio-ed in place. The sword. The one in Bellatrix's vault was a fake. The sword should have been at Hogwarts before then, Snape was the Headmaster. "And the sword? The one Harry got from the lake? The doe patronus?"

Snape's face tightened for a moment. "The Dark Lord could not know of my involvement, that I was helping you and Albus. And we both know that you would not trust me enough had you known the sword had come from me."

"The Carrows?"

"Again, it was all part of the plan. Would you rather have, say, Dolohov or one of the Lestranges in my stead? I can assure you, they would be far less…merciful."

The more Snape said, the more it made sense to Ron. Snape was good enough an actor and Occlumens to fool both sides. From a tactical standpoint, it was a brilliant plan: to keep everyone guessing, make himself the bad guy to play the spy while helping Harry in the background, with only Dumbledore being the wiser.

But from the point of view of a pawn (and Ron had no doubt, at this point, that that was all he and even Snape was in Dumbledore's head at the moment), it was a bitter pill to swallow. Harry had been resentful of how reticent Dumbledore was, and though Ron was inclined to sympathize, the red head didn't understand enough to feel strongly about the subject.

But now that Ron himself was face to face with downright callous—there was no better word for it—manipulation, and with Snape bearing the brunt of it…

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Ron's blue eyes bored into Snape's black ones. "Why did you let him do that to you? What was in it for you? You were fighting with us, you were helping us. Even when we thought you were just another Death Eater."

"Aren't you more curious as to why Potter had to die?"

"Yeah, there's that too. But from what I know about Horcruxes, I think I mostly get it. But you…" The thought that Dumbledore had something over Snape's head made Ron really uncomfortable. The man had been a prat, a horrid bully, yet he was brave enough to be in the same room as Voldemort, to stomach Death Eater atrocities while actually fighting for the Headmaster side.

"And you think I will just come out and tell you?" Snape's voice lowered a pitch, cold and cutting, but Ron didn't waver in his gaze.

The Potions Master grunted. "A fragment of Voldemort's soul—unstable as it already was—broke away and latched onto Potter, being the only living thing in Godric's Hollow that night. That fragment remained in Potter, giving him Parselmouth ability and a connection to the Dark Lord's mind. In return, as long as Potter lives with that soul fragment within him, the Dark Lord cannot truly die.

"Albus emphasized on the importance that Potter knew all about this in the right moment, and that Potter must die at the Dark Lord's hand. The right moment, according to him, was when Voldemort will come to fear for his snake, Nagini, which happened a few days before the battle at Hogwarts. The snake who once had free reign over Death Eater territory now hardly left the Dark Lord's side, and I have caught him more than once mumbling about the need to keep Nagini safe. He gave no indication as to why. I can only guess that it had something to do with what Dumbledore had sent you three to do after his death."

"The hunt for the horcruxes." Ron didn't think it should be a secret anymore either. At Snape's furrowing brow, the teen went on. "Objects that have pieces of Voldemort's soul in them. They're meant to turn him into this sort of immortal by keeping him into this world even after he's died. That will only work obviously as long as the Horcruxes are still in one piece."

Snape hummed in acknowledgment. "And the fact that the Dark Lord has become fearful for the life of his pet…"

"It's because we've destroyed almost all of them. Riddle's Diary. The Gaunt Ring. Slytherin's locket. Ravenclaw's diadem. Hufflepuff's cup. Never would have thought there could be a living Horcrux, let alone Harry actually being one." Ron paused for a breath. "But why does Harry have to die by Voldemort? The other horcruxes didn't have to be destroyed by the bastard himself."

"Albus said it is something between Potter and him every time I asked in the past. But he managed to tell me, shortly before his death, that it would mean Potter doing for all of you…what Lily did for him."

Lily? Ron blinked. "You mean Lily Potter? Harry's mum?"

A myriad of emotions flitted on Snape's face at her name. Emotions Ron was painfully familiar with. "Lily…since my early childhood, she was the only constant goodness I have had. Even at times when we were at odds with each other, she stood by me, more than anyone else in my life had. Until that day I pushed her away. I wager Potter has already told you, what he has seen in my Pensive? That day the Marauders by the lake? I called her Mudblood then, and it had been the final straw."

The red head blinked for a moment to jog his memory. Yes, Harry did speak of it at some point. For Ron, it was just another item in "Why Snape is a bastard" list. But hearing the tangible pain and regret in Snape's voice as he spoke of it. "Err, did you ever try to say that you're sorry?"

"Countless times, but she no longer believed me. She thought I did not see her any different from the other muggleborns I have slurred. I did not give her any further reason to question the claim. Though I may have lost her friendship, I never…forgot, even when I became a full-fledged Death Eater. She was my friend, like a sister, and there was a time I wished we had more.

"But being dead gives one a clearer hindsight: I did not love her enough to see the light she did. Whatever I felt for her was not enough to stop me from hurting her or the ones she cared for. It did not stop me from hating the one she died for.

"Before I left Hogwarts and I took the Mark, I thought I was doing what was right. That all I needed to live was to be feared and undefeated. But now, here, all I want is to reverse the flow of time, so I can go back and hex that foolish boy that I was to his senses."

But if I had a chance to go back…a man with too many regrets and nothing to lose would have taken it."

"Love," the Potions Master went on. "Albus kept touting the importance of it enough to make anyone sick of the word. But it makes sense in ways logic and magic cannot fully express. Lily died out of love for her son, and it became his protection. If Potter were to do the same, with all of you in mind, I would guess that his protection will be with the ones he left behind. And if Albus' theory is correct, Potter's death in Voldemort's hands is what will sever his connection with the soul fragment for good."

"But at what cost?" Ron's fist clenched in righteous anger. "So many people are dead. Harry's dead."

"War was never without cost, Weasley. More had died in the first war, and in much more gruesome ways."

"But Harry! Harry was never supposed to! After everything he has been through! The bloke deserved a normal life free from that monster. But he has to give it up for everyone? How is that bloody fair?!"

"Life hardly is."

"Then what is all this for?! I wanted to go back so I can help Harry fight that son of a bitch! I wanted to go back so I can make everything right and live until I'm old and gray like I've always wanted! But if I do get to go back, I'll have to live with knowing that Harry has to die for us to win! What's the point of going back if this is how it's supposed to go all over again?!"

"And if you keep thinking that way, then you remain a fool!" Snape raised his voice, making Ron take a step back. "Didn't you yourself tell Potter that the war is not just about him and the Dark Lord? Are you going to let your goal to save as much lives as you can die out because of just one boy? Do you think the self-sacrificing fool that Potter is would have wanted that?"

Ron's insides froze on the last statement with the familiar chill of guilt and shame. Snape's right. You would have wanted me to go back, wouldn't you, Harry? Even if it meant you would die, if it meant going back to save Remus, Sirius, and even Dumbledore.

"And you. You have your second chance, Weasley." Snape cut in to Ron's thoughts again. "More than just to save lives, you have a chance to redeem yourself. They call you a presumptuous coward with an emotional range of a teaspoon, but you know you have more depth than that. Your memories prove it. What you lack is drive, possessing merely half-hearted motivation. And unless you apply yourself, even if you do get to win this game, you will end up making the same mistakes all over again."

Ron's jaw slackened in shock over Snape's choice of words and their implications. Those personally cutting words from the past that scarred, the only way the older man would have known of them in such a precise manner was…

Snape sighed heavily. Obviously, Ron's expression gave it all away. "I have told you of this already. How do you think I know that you keep dramatically falling over because of your visions?"

The poor teen's ears turned paper white to brick red. "You…you saw all that?!"

The hooked nose man's lips curled, whether out of disgust or—heaven forbid—amusement, Ron' couldn't be sure. "More than I will ever be comfortable with knowing."

"Well that's just…" Ron buried his head into his hands. "This can't get any worse, can it?"

"That is tempting fate."

"No, at this point, chances are I'm just stating a fact." Ron massaged his temples, then a thought came to him. "Is that why you just came out and told me about you and Harry's mum?"

Snape met Ron's scrutinizing gaze with a quiet but pointed look until Ron let out a breath. "I guess it wouldn't matter either way, huh?"

"You're actually learning," came Snape's dry response, a comment that would have gotten a rise, or at least a snarky comeback, but now only made Ron nod thoughtfully. "Eh, Hermione always did say I was slow on the uptake."

It was strange. At first, it didn't make sense that Snape of all people would become his guide in this strange test. Not was their connection remote at best, but whatever relationship they may have had was grounded by mutual animosity. But then Snape had seen the deepest, darkest sides of him that no one ever had. And Ron learned more about his old professor through the man himself, enough for the teen to rethink.

"You're right." Ron said in a tone far stronger than when he first begun the chess game. "I said it before, this war isn't just about Harry anymore. It's about saving all those people who died because of the undead bastard who can go shag himself to hell! It's about not letting those bigoted pureblood screwheads prance all over the world as if their shit doesn't stink!

"So maybe being in a war means that I won't be able to save everyone, but," The faces of all the Weasleys, his friends, everyone he remembered flashed in quick succession. "Even if I have to fall and get up, then fall and get up all over again, I'll be damned if I don't at least try!"

A hush fell in the hall like a long drawn moment of agony, before Snape waved with a swish of black robes. "Then, I believe, Weasley, it is your move."

Ron's head swiveled to see that the black queen from D-4 had already inched a diagonal square forward. Huh. So whoever the hell It was obviously wasn't in a hurry to finish the game if It let all that play out.

But enough of that. Ron Weasley had a game to win. "Queen to F-6!"

The black king moved to crush the white pawn below it after Ron's queen moved. Another vision came hurtling in, but this time, Ron didn't crumble like broken stone.

"Why return?" Riddle-Harry hissed, sounding so much like its counterpart. "We were better without you, happier without you."

"Presumption!" That was Riddle-Hermione, horrifyingly lovelier than the real one. "Who could look at you? What are you, compared to the Boy Who Lived?"

Ron's mind, however, was aflame. The visions still hurt like a white-hot lance, but there was a mantra now that blanketed his mind like a burning, protective wall. "Pawn to C-3!"

There was the sound of grinding stone before same pawn would fall again to the black king.

"Just thought you'd coming nosing around, did you?" Harry had shouted at him in anger, and that in turn made Ron angry. Just when he had been worried Harry hadn't come back to the dorm yet. Just when Ron stayed up all night waiting to make sure Harry did. Just when he mustered the courage to finally talk to him.

But a different exchange happened, and a badge was thrown to his forehead instead. "You might even have a scar now, if you're lucky…That's what you want, isn't it?"

No. What Ron wanted was to apologize. What Ron wanted was his best friend back. But Ron was also coward. Ron was also hot tempered.

And above all else, Ron, who just stood and stared at the spot Harry left, was also an idiot.

It doesn't matter anymore, even if Ron will always be second place or the least loved. That was probably going to be his lot for the rest of his life. But this war, this chess game, was not just about him. If Harry can give himself up no matter how much it hurt for the greater good, then Ron owed it to his best friend to do the same.

"Queen to A-1!" The orders flew from Ron's lips as hard as the white marble of his pieces. "Bishop to F-1!"

A black rook destroyed Ron's last rook several moves later, leaving Ron with barely more than a handful left.

I left them. Ron thought morosely after Bill warmly let him into Shell Cottage.

I left them. Ron thought morosely over the steaming bowl of soup and bread Fleur set on the table.

I left them. Ron thought morosely when the couple fell silent after his explanation, when Fleur gently led him to a guestroom and Bill tucked him in, smoothing his hair as if he were a child once more.

They didn't have to say anything, but Ron knew they saw the truth. They didn't have to show it, but Ron knew they were disgusted.

I left them. Ron thought morosely, eyes wet and burning under the blanket where he still felt so very cold. I really am worthless.

But Ron retaliated not long after, taking down a few more pieces including the black queen.

A blonde Slytherin girl, the same one from earlier, helping an injured student to safety when a rogue cutting curse went straight through her chest.

"So this…is to be my fate?" Despite his bishop's repeated beatings with its cane, the bloodied blonde was smiling, albeit sadly. "Father…Mother…Astoria…Forgive me…"

Another boy—dark haired, high cheekbones and fair skinned— in green robes, mouth agape, victim of a stray Killing Curse.

"Let the world know…" The boy's eyes were glaring at something beyond Ron. "The Nott…who will bow…to no master…"

Two more dead faces, ones without names but no less important. They became part of the kindle and it drove him forward. Going through the board with his handful of white pieces with a mission, Ron felt empowered. He was going back to save them. Anyone who fell in this war and before that. Everyone he could. He will probably not remember all of their names or their faces, but he can remember this feeling, the desperate desire to keep them alive.

"Queen to A-7!"

He was going to save them.

"Queen to A-4!"

He was going to win.

And the black king froze mid turn on its square, one away from Ron, as if it had just realized what Ron had projected three moves away. Ron lifted his hand, where a wand—his willow and unicorn tail hair companion for four years—suddenly materialized, his form poised before the tall dark monument, shaky, sweating yet determined.

"Checkmate."

Ron heard Snape say something but didn't catch it. His eyes instead remained glued on the black king, watching, waiting.

Then a crack formed on the crown, followed by another to the left, one to the right, before all three descended in a furious web of hissing and crunching, the king trembling when bolts of light came bursting from the fissures. Ron hissed, blocking the brightness with his free hand, but he remained standing with his wand aloft as the cracks grew larger until there was a loud bang and a cloud of dust.

"Bollocks!" Ron's eyes watered as he coughed and waved away all the dust. Snape from the side looked unperturbed for a few moments until the smoke cleared, then he inhaled sharply, loud enough for Ron to hear.

Then Ron saw it, what could have been a mass of glowing silver, opaque except for the bottom that flared into wisps of silk like tendrils of glitter. The figure was tall, easily towering over Ron, a few feet away from touching the ceiling but afloat two heads off the floor, with a humanoid form that appeared to be robed in long thick sleeves that ended just above hands with branch thin fingers. It had a head but without face, though for some reason Ron knew the apparition was staring at him.

Rᴏɴᴀʟᴅ. Bɪʟʟɪᴜs. Wᴇᴀsʟᴇʏ.

It didn't need a mouth to speak either, it seemed, with a voice soft yet booming like blanketed rumbling thunder over each word.

Ron fidgeted in awe over the imposing figure, aiming his newly materialized wand as steadily as he could. "Who—what are you?"

There was a chuckle, and the silver wisp's head bent forward towards Ron, who remained glued in his spot. Wʜᴏ ɪɴᴅᴇᴇᴅ? Tʜᴏᴜ ʜᴀsᴛ ᴍᴀɴʏ ɴᴀᴍᴇs ғᴏʀ ᴜs, sᴏ Sᴇᴠᴇʀᴜs Sɴᴀᴘᴇ sᴀʏᴇᴛʜ. A bony yet surprisingly warm hand brushed over Ron's forehead. Fᴀᴛᴇ. Tɪᴍᴇ. Gᴏᴅ. Mᴀɢɪᴄ. Dᴇᴀᴛʜ.

The manner of speaking felt so ancient and regal, it took a while to make sense on top of Ron trying to hear over the roaring in his ears. "You're…It?"

The faceless head tilted left for a moment before leaning back, as if satisfied, and Ron let out a breath of relief. Tʜᴏᴜ ʜᴀsᴛ ᴅᴇғᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴜs ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪɴᴇ ᴏᴡɴ ᴘᴀᴛʜ. Tʜʏ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ғᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ɪs ᴛʜɪɴᴇ ɴᴏɴᴇᴛʜᴇʟᴇss. As ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀs ᴛʜᴏᴜ ᴛʜʏ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇs ᴍᴀᴋᴇsᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴsᴇǫᴜᴇɴᴄᴇs ᴛʜᴏᴜ sʜᴀʟᴛ ғᴀᴄᴇ.

"Err, thanks?" Ron really had no idea what to say to that. Beside him, he could have sworn he heard a slap and Snape mutter something like, "Idiot."

Iᴛ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜʏ ғᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜs. Iɴ ᴛʜʏ ʀᴇᴀʟᴍ, ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀsᴛ sᴛɪʟʟ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ. Bᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴏᴜ ʜᴀsᴛ ᴄʜᴏsᴇɴ ᴛᴏ sᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜɪɴᴇ ᴋɪɴ. Tʜᴇ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ʜᴀs ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅᴛʜ, ᴀs ɪᴛ ʜᴀᴛʜ ʙᴇᴇɴ ғᴏʀ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs. Wᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ғʟᴀᴡs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴛ ʀɪɢʜᴛ. Rᴇsᴛᴏʀᴇᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ, ᴊᴜᴅɢᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡʜᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪᴠɪɴᴇ ᴏɴᴇɴᴇss ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ sᴏᴜʟ ʜᴀᴛʜ ʙᴇsᴍɪʀᴄʜᴇᴅ, continued It. Bᴜᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʜᴀsᴛ ᴄʜᴏsᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ, ᴀs ᴏᴘᴘᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ. Aɴᴅ ᴏғ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴏᴜ, ᴛʜʏ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ ɪs ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴜɴʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ᴏғ. Hᴇɴᴄᴇғᴏʀᴛʜ, ᴡʜʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜ ʜᴀsᴛ ғᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ғᴏʀ ɪᴛ, ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴜs. Aɴᴅ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs, ᴛʜᴏᴜ ʜᴀsᴛ ᴡᴏɴ.  

Tʜᴜs ᴡᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇᴛʜ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴇ, ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀs ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡʜᴏ ᴛʀɪᴜᴍᴘʜᴇᴅ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ, ᴛʜʏ ᴘʀɪᴢᴇ ᴄᴏɴғᴇʀᴇᴛʜ."Ron needed a moment to process what he heard, then another just to be sure.

"But wait, isn't the prize the back door? Err, that is what I've been hoping to get. N—not that, m—maybe it was wrong, or—great, maybe it's not what I thought it was going to be, I mean, bollocks, I really don't get anything—"

Tʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀ ɪs ᴛʜʏ ᴘᴀᴛʜ. It cut in smoothly in a way that could make everything cease just because It said so. Tʜʏ ᴘʀɪᴢᴇ ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ɪs ᴛʜʏ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ: ᴡᴇᴀʟᴛʜ, ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ, ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍs, ғᴀɴᴛᴀsʏ. Tʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏ ʟɪᴍɪᴛ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇsᴛ ʜᴇᴇᴅ. Mᴀɴʏ ᴀ ʙʟɪɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʜᴀᴛʜ ғᴀʟʟᴇɴ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴄʜᴏᴏsɪɴɢ ᴘᴏᴏʀʟʏ.

The figure then opened a hand, and suddenly the air around them was sang with such power that made Ron's very soul stand on end.

Nᴏᴡ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴛʜɪɴᴇ, ᴛʜᴏᴜ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴀsᴛ Dᴇᴀᴛʜ ʙᴇsᴛᴇᴅ?

It…can't be serious.

Ron blinked once, even subtly pinched his leg, just to be sure that this wasn't some dream brought about by a too full belly. No, It was still there, floating solid, and so was this strange near exact re-enactment of the Deathly Hallows tale, from how Death showed up after Ron overcame the chess game to the offer for a prize after defeating It.

But then the prizes weren't really prizes, were they? Ron thought hard on what he remembered on that tale that still followed him here. The three brothers defeated Death and were given items based on what they asked for, which then made up the legendary Hallows. But out of the three, only one managed to truly escape from Death, because he chose the cloak. No, that wasn't it—the third brother didn't escape Death, but merely delayed It. The third brother only took off the Invisibility Cloak after attaining "a great age" and went to Death as if they were old friends.

The Ron back then would have also chosen the Elder Wand, because it would have made him powerful, a somebody, but the Ron now knew better.

Hermione was right, the Elder Wand was more trouble than its worth, as was unchecked power. It was what drove Voldemort to start this whole war, as well as other dark lords. Even Albus Dumbledore, based on Aberforth's story, had been lead astray by his pride and ambition.

The first brother chose the power to match Death, and that power turned on him. The second brother chose to defy death, and his defiance drove him to madness. But the third brother, because he knew that he could not escape or overcome Death, he just made sure that he had time to live his life until he was ready. He chose the power to protect himself from Death. And if that power could be used upon others, the way Harry would use the cloak to cover all three of them…

"The truth is, I wanted to go back at first, because I wanted to live. I didn't like how my life turned out, or how much I screwed up. I thought if I could go back, I could change all that and maybe, finally, I can be somebody. Sure I wanted to save those who died, but, at first it was so that I can be a hero for once," Ron paused. "But then I realized that if I went back thinking that, chances are I would have screwed up all over again. Because I haven't changed, I would be making the same mistakes. I'd still be only thinking about me. But it's not just about me anymore.

"It doesn't matter if I'll always be second best, or least loved. Just like it didn't matter to Harry that he was going to die young without ever getting to live free of Voldemort," The fact will forever hurt, Ron was sure of it. But he was also sure of what he was going to say. "Harry died for us. He died to protect us. But that's not right with me. I'm not going to take that because Harry, along with everyone else who died in this stupid war, deserves a chance to live their lives until they're ready to meet You the same way the third brother did."

There weren't marks for eyes on It's head, so Ron settled for glaring at whatever his blue eyes can reach. "You said I made my path, right? Well I'm going back, but I'm gonna do it to keep everyone safe. Nothing escapes You, but I can keep them from You a little longer. I…I don't know how but I'm gonna work on it. I'll learn, I'll work hard. I might botch up but I'll keep at it and give it my all.

"So, if I'll have to pick a prize, if the third brother wanted the Invisibility Cloak then I choose something to help me remember You, and become one!"

The floating It raised a finger to its head, as if tapping its chin, an agonizing quiet passed before It spoke again. Tʜᴏᴜ ʜᴀsᴛ ᴄʜᴏsᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ? Pᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛʜᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇsᴛ, ʏᴇᴛ ᴛʜʏ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ ɪs…ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ…

"A very good friend of mine," The memory of their first—their only—kiss flashed in Ron's mind and it took everything he had to squelch the longing for Hermione. "She once said that the Elder Wand, that much power, Is more trouble than it is worth. I just need enough…enough to protect them. I'm not the hero…and it took this stupid game for me to see…that I can be OK with that."

Wɪsᴇ, ᴛʜʏ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ ɪɴᴅᴇᴇᴅ. Ron could somehow feel that the floating figure was actually smiling. Aɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇsɪʀᴇsᴛ ᴡɪsᴅᴏᴍ. Bᴇ ᴡᴀʀɴᴇᴅ, 'ᴛɪs ɪs ᴀ ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀ ғʀᴜɪᴛ. Is ᴛʜᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ɪᴛ ᴘʀᴇᴘᴀʀᴇᴅ?

"If what I've learned up to this point can help me save everyone, even Harry." Especially Harry. Ron's blue eyes were hard. "This is my choice."

Death's body jerked up and, in a blink, was suddenly right back up Ron's face. Sᴏ sʜᴀʟᴛ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ.

The silver wraith waved its hand, and Ron had to shield his vision when a bright, thumping light emanated from the air in its grasp. Sounds of cracking roared in his ears along with rushing wind and Death's deep voice.

Kɴᴏᴡᴇsᴛ ᴛʜɪs, ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ sᴇᴇᴋᴇᴛʜ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛ sᴏᴜʟs sᴏ ɢʀᴇᴇᴅɪʟʏ. Tʜᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴜs; ᴛᴏ ʜᴀsᴛᴇɴ ᴛʜɪɴᴇ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ Bᴇʏᴏɴᴅ, ᴏғ ɴᴏ ᴍᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ. A ɴᴏʙʟᴇ ɢᴏᴀʟ ᴛʜᴏᴜ ʜᴀsᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ғᴏʀ Us, ᴏғ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛ. A ᴄʜᴀʟʟᴇɴɢᴇ, ᴛʜᴜs, ɪғ ᴛʜᴏᴜ sʜᴀʟᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴇ ǫᴜᴇsᴛ ғᴜʟғɪʟʟ. Wʜᴀᴛ, sᴀʏᴇᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴇᴛʜ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪɴᴇ ᴄʜᴏsᴇɴ ᴘᴀᴛʜ?

Death drew back to cup in both hands the light that had slowly taken shape: cylindrical, thick and long as a palm, glinting metallic sapphire, a bird etched on it with luminous silver, wings spread wide and tail feathers resembling jagged lightning. The object then drifted forward for Ron to take, and it settled into Ron's outstretched hands.

Tʜᴏᴜ ɪs ғᴀʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ғᴀᴜʟᴛʟᴇss—sᴜᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴏғ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟs—ʙᴜᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɴᴏᴡ. Tʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʜᴀᴛʜ ʙᴇᴇɴ sᴇᴛ, ᴛᴏ ɪᴛs ᴡᴇᴀᴠᴇs ɪʀʀᴇᴠᴏᴄᴀʙʟʏ ʙᴏᴜɴᴅ. Hᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅs, ʙʏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅs, ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ.  Aᴍᴏɴɢsᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ, ᴡᴏʀʟᴅs ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜ ʜᴀsᴛ ʏᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ. Oғ ɴᴏᴛᴇ, ɪᴛ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟᴍ ᴛʜᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡᴇsᴛ. Tʜᴇ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇs, sᴀᴍᴇ, ʏᴇᴛ ᴀʟsᴏ ɴᴏᴛ. Eᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴍɪɴɪsᴄᴜʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅs, ᴄᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀᴘᴇsᴛʀʏ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴛʜ.

"Err, sorry, what?"

"It means," said Snape from behind Ron. "That the back door will not necessarily reverse time of this world but instead send you to a similar one, most likely one where you are yet to be born. In order words, it is something akin to a rebirth. But will his memories remain intact?"

Nᴏᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ. Said It. Mᴀʏʜᴀᴘ, ɪɴ ғʀᴀɢᴍᴇɴᴛs ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ʙɪɴᴅᴇᴛʜ. Assᴜʀᴇᴅʟʏ, ᴛʜᴇ ғʀᴜɪᴛs ᴏғ Rᴏɴᴀʟᴅ's sᴏᴜʟ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜɪs ʟɪғᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅᴛʜ ғᴏʀᴛʜ, ᴀs ɪs ʜɪs ʙᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ.  Tʜᴇ ғʟᴀsᴋ ᴏғ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪs ᴘʀᴏᴏғ.

Ron turned over the metallic object in his hand, lifting it for further inspection when he managed to open the lid. It looked just like… "The Deluminator?"

Tʜʏ ᴛᴇsᴛ ɪs ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ. Tʜʏ ǫᴜᴇsᴛ, ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ. Aɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ… Death moved aside. Tʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀs.

Ron lifted his eyes, and the massive stone double doors in front of him cracked open. The light that went streaming out of it was oddly warm and comforting.

"Snape…" Ron turned to his old Potions professor, who looked surprised at being acknowledged. "Professor, I…thank you. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have made it halfway through all this."

"Don't sell yourself short, Weasley. I must admit, you were every bit the formidable chess player Minerva believed you were. It would be a waste if you did not learn anything from this experience to extend your capabilities beyond the chess board."

"It's not that I can half ass my way around, not after this. I promised, didn't I?" Ron shrugged. "And, I guess I just wanted to say, you're not half bad. Maybe since Harry's mum and you are both on the other side, maybe you can sort things out now? Just try not to be a hot-headed git to Harry's dad and the other Marauders. Take it from me, it won't get you anywhere."

Snape's lips curled into, much to Ron's surprise, a ghost of a smile. "If it can be of any assistance, I would advise you to remember about being a Prewett."

That threw Ron for another loop. "Err, obviously, that's mum's side of the family."

"Then keep it in mind," said Snape. "For all you know, you can, inherit, something from it."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "What are you—?"

Rᴏɴᴀʟᴅ Wᴇᴀsʟᴇʏ. Death's hand was on his shoulder, and Ron felt like some other force was gently pulling him to the light beyond the doors.

"W, wait! Can…can I ask one more thing?" Ron fidgeted before meeting Death's eyeless gaze. "You said earlier, I think, that there was someone else, like me, who chose to go back instead of staying dead. Was it…someone I know?"

Iɴᴅᴇᴇᴅ. It lifted a finger to Its temple and drew a sliver of luminous white. A ᴛᴏᴋᴇɴ ᴏғ ᴏᴜʀ ᴇsᴛᴇᴇᴍ, ᴛʜᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇᴛʜ. Cᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪᴇs ʜᴀᴛʜ ɪᴛ ʙᴇᴇɴ, sɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀ ᴄʜᴀʟʟᴇɴɢᴇ sᴜᴄʜ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇᴇ.

The strand of white burst.

Oddly muted both in color and sound, but definitely it was King's Cross.

"Harry…" Albus Dumbledore, robed in pure white, smiling with pride and utmost affection. "Harry, you wonderful boy. You brave, brave man…"

"The true master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that must die…that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying."

"I've got to go back, haven't I?" Harry asked Dumbledore who smiled. "That is up to you."

...

"He is dead!" Narcissa Malfoy, above the figure of Harry Potter, broken and slumped on the ground, amidst the cheering of the Dark Lord's followers. So ardent in their celebration they missed the slightest rising and falling of the teen's chest.

"You will carry him!" The gloating Dark Lord commanded with barely contained glee. "Pick up your little friend Hagrid!"

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself…We bring you his body as proof…"

"NO!" Hermione's scream of grief followed by Ginny's. "Harry! HARRY!"

...

Chaos erupted so suddenly, so swiftly, with the arrival of Grawp and the arrows of the centaurs. Just as swiftly, Neville drew from the Sorting Hat the Sword of Gryffindor, and with one sweep, cut off Nagini's head.

And the world froze at a yell, "PROTEGO!" the rumpling sound of the Invisibility Cloak being thrown off, and the cheers of hope and jubilee, "HE'S ALIVE!"

"You won't be killing anyone else tonight," said the very much alive Harry Potter, confidence oozing out of his very being that can only come from knowing, understanding, at long last.

"Try…Try for some remorse…"

...

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

A cannon blast bang, a ripple of silence, and just like that, Voldemort spun, mouth agape, his empty shell toppling to the floor.

The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, as did the Wizarding World's euphoria of victory.

"Harry! Harry! Harry!"

"Harry…Harry…you did it…" Ron's eyes misted with tears, hands tight on both the Deluminator and his wand, and a hand pushed him to the waiting light of the double doors.

It was Harry. For some miraculous reason, Harry, who Ron saw die through the chess game, was given a chance to return like him. To be the hero of the Wizarding World, just as he had always meant to be. And now, he really is the Boy Who Lived. Ron briefly thought (and hoped) that maybe this too was part of Dumbledore's plan.

Harry, you lucky sod, you have no idea how happy I am for you. Now go and live the life like you're supposed to. Take care of everyone. Thank you, for being my friend.

Fᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴇ ᴡᴇʟʟ, Rᴏɴᴀʟᴅ Wᴇᴀsʟᴇʏ. 

Blue eyes closed over a stream of tears. I love you all.

The world was drowned in white.

Oh my Lord, archaic English is a bloody pain to write! But at least that's over with…(for now.  What, did you think that's the last we'll see of It?  Of course not!)

So I'm on vacation and I've been hit by an urge to binge on fanfic writing. This chapter was years in the making because researching chess battles, archaic English and going over all the books all over again had been tiring. But overall, I'm proud of how this chapter turned out. Pretty long, but seeing as I haven't updated in ages, is the length justifiable?

About my Ron: he will still have his faults, like being a hot head and dense. But he's, like Death said, ever changing. This experience gave him a kick in the right direction, and I'm hoping that this will be a good foundation for him being a more serious character who can make use of his intellect and practical skills. There's also issues regarding his self esteem (they will be with him all throughout) but we'll get to that.

About pairings: I'm going to get this out in the open so you guys know what you'll be getting into with this fic. I have two viable options for both Ron and Harry but haven't decided on any yet. Quite frankly after the Wizarding War introductory arc, I will be slowly but surely deviating from canon, so please don't tell me that whatever I'm writing is not in or how it was in the books because I know. 

(And apparently, I cannot stress this enough.) 

The confirmed ships are Neville/Luna, Percy/Penelope, Bill/Fleur, Sirius/Remus, James/Lily. If any one of them bothers you, feel free to leave quietly. We all have our preferences. Flaming me won't change mine. But if you're cool with this, then let's party. XD

If you've reached this far, thank you so much. Please tell me what you think, because reviews are my way of knowing that I'm doing it right and that it's worth continuing this (I hope so, because I really love the idea). See you in the next chapter!

It will come, I promise. *pinky swear*

UP NEXT: Ron wakes up, shorter, shriller and confused as hell. But Ron doesn't have the time to stay out of sorts. He has a mission, a world to save...and a party to attend? 

Chapter Text

Chuchi's corner of shame has returned! Glorious!

So I royally botched this chapter up, nearly screwing the logical flow of the HP world because of negligence. A kindly reviewer commented on the mistakes I have made, which I have rectified to the best of my abilities. Special thanks to SweGLEEK for pointing it out.

EDIT: Made more minor grammar, sentence structure tweaks. And the corner of shame is staying! Yay for me!

Chapter One:

The Boy Who Went Back

From the day he had been conceived, Ronald Bilius Weasley had been a most curious child.

To begin with, his parents honestly thought he was going to be the baby girl they had hoped and prayed for. It was only farther along pregnancy did they realize that they were having their sixth boy, and already his entry into the world was blemished by despair.

Then on the night of his birth, the world was ablaze with crackling light but no sign of rain. The thunderstorm that came without warning lasted from the time his mother had gone into labor up until after birth, and had anyone around him been more observant, they would have found it odd that the sky grew quiet when the babe uttered his first cry.

But no one bothered too much when it came to little Ronald Bilius Weasley, and that was perhaps in itself a blessing.

He had the sky for his eyes, and much like the sky, they would shift and darken like moody weather. At times, it would be clear and bright, as it should be whenever he would run around and play with his siblings, receive the slightest bit of attention from his parents.

On others, it would be cloudy, whenever everyone around him seemed to be in a world of their own, and he was all alone in his. Whenever he would fall for some folly and be punished for it because no one really took the time to explain anything. Whenever it felt like truly he could never compare to the shine that his other siblings so naturally possessed.

And then there are moments, those rare ones, when the blue of his eyes turned into the color of nimbus. And when they do, it was as if the whole heavens would roll and crack in response. Those who could have witnessed such a moment would describe it being wrapped in a sudden draft, as if thunder and lightning broke through the clouds and next to their ears. Had anyone been looking at the boy's eyes, they would be fascinated by—or wary of—the sudden age and the weariness that came upon the azure irises.

Yet hardly anyone does, because they are more caught up in the events that came along with this inexpiable change. A sighting of a Grim. A teddy turned into a spider. An attempt of the Unbreakable Vow. A near death of a mother.

And each time that happened, there would be a jolt in his brain, a sudden onslaught of thoughts few to many, some too complicated for him to understand, yet instinctively he, or his magic, knew what to do.

Ronald Bilius Weasley was an enigma, a playful bundle of energy so eager to please and belong for a moment, a quiet wallflower in the next; with secrets so intimate that not even he himself knew or understood them.

That was, until one fateful night.

FLASH!

"You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity."

The Great Hall was teeming with movement, of Hogwarts' defenders making the most of the respite to tend to their wounded, sort through the dead. Already, unseen partitions were being formed among the crowd, with the middle of the hall reserved for the fallen both valiant and unfortunate.

Fortunately, the Weasleys—four of them, at least, grouped together at the left aisle—had no reason to linger for long at the center. While it was a heavy loss to have friends like Colin, Remus and Tonks among the dead, in their hearts of hearts, the family was thankful and relieved that so far it hadn't been any of their own.

Still, the fact that her husband and two of her children returned to her relatively unharmed did nothing to deter Molly's worried fussing.

"Mum, for the last time, I'm telling you I'm fine!" Ginny huffed over, arms crossed but obligingly still while Molly continued to fuss over her. From behind the Weasley matriarch, Arthur stood with a near apologetic smile and a hand on a barely quietly laughing George's shoulder.

"Really, Ginny, look at you all bruised and cut up! I'm just making sure those Death Eaters didn't hurt you worse, my poor girl!"

"Which they didn't! Honestly, just because I'm under age doesn't mean that—"

"Ah, just keep that chin up and bear it, little sister." George said cheekily over their mother's shoulder. "You know there's no stopping mum when she's like that. Best take it like a good ol' Gryffindor."

Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother's exaggerated show of pumping fists. Arthur shook his head and patted George's back fondly. "Best you listen to your own advice then, son. It looks like your mother is just about done with Gin."

True enough, after a few more seconds of tutting and waving her wand around her daughter, Molly finally backed away with a satisfied nod (and a sigh of relief from Ginny) before turning to George. "There, all done. Your turn, George dear."

"Who, oh, me? Err…" George blanched, switching his gaze between his amused father and his victoriously smirking sister while trying to talk his way out (or just plain run) of his predicament. "No, no, wait, mum, ah, don't you think this is a little—?"

"—Fred? Percy?"

It was Arthur who saw them first, suddenly going rigid as George, Molly and Ginny turned to see Fred and Percy slowly walking up to their huddle. Fred had his head down, lips twisted roughly and gait almost stumbling. Percy, from behind him, walked almost the same way, but with more obvious reason: he held a bundle in his arms that went all the way behind his right shoulder. A human looking bundle that appeared too tall for the bespectacled brother to carry.

A too still human looking bundle. George noted with a sharp inhale before running to meet his twin when his family appeared to be frozen in place. "Fred! Fred, Perce, Merlin, wha—?"

All of a sudden, as soon as George reached him, Fred's barely standing posture broke like glass. With a strangled gasp, Fred's arms were around his brother, and the sudden weight sent both of them dropping to their knees.

"It should have been me!" Fred gasped as if he were running out of air, his cold hands clutching George's frame like a lifeline. "It should have been me, Georgie. It should have been—shite, shite, why wasn't it me?!"

"F—Fred, slow down, what the hell happened?" George's voice shook on its own, blindsided and troubled beyond anything. For all their lives together, he had never seen the defiant and dauntless Fred Weasley like this, so openly upset that broken didn't seem enough a word to describe him. "Fred, come on, just tell me—"

Then a horrid scream sounded from behind him. George barely had the time to turn when he saw his sister barrel past him and to Percy. To the cargo Percy had been carrying.

"NO! NO! NOOO! RON!" Ginny's wails pierced the air and made it still, her lithe figure falling to her knees as Percy did when he laid out the unmoving Ron Weasley to the floor, blue eyes half open and fixed, bright red hair standing out above the pale skin. Molly was right next to her, tears flooding out of her eyes and anguished screams out of her lips as she buried her head against the unmoving chest.

"R…Ron?" George's voice was hushed and tight, unlike his sister's and mother's, who had crowded over Ron's torso in a cacophony of hysterics and tears. He was barely aware of him slipping out of Fred's embrace, of Fred leaning heavily on the ground with a harsh sob, of himself inching on hands and knees forward to Ron's form stained with dust and dried blood, threading trembling fingers through the bright red locks. "Oh Merlin, Ronnie, please, no…please, don't…"

FLASH! CRACK!

"MUM! DAD!"

Charlie halted a few steps away from the group, the second eldest Weasley son's face was as wild as his hair. Trailing from behind were Bill and Fleur, bruised and dirtied in some places, both just as shaken as Charlie when they saw what appeared to be their family in mourning in the middle of the Great Hall.

The seconds ticked, with none of the three appearing to want to move forward, until Bill took the tentative step. "Dad? Percy? Wh—what's going on?"

"It's Ron…" The Weasley patriarch swallowed for what felt like forever, until he managed to drag the words out. "Ron—Bill, Charlie—he's…"

"…No…" Bill choked out the second it sank in, Fleur let out a strangled cry and Charlie pushed forward to the group gathered around the fallen teen. One sight of Ron's body and the second oldest brother's knees gave out, Charlie's hands grasping Ron's side being all that kept him from falling to the earth.

"Ron…" Charlie breathed, hands forming fists on Ron's shirt as he shook them. "This…this can't…you can't be…Ron, you have to get up. Damn it, Ron, you stupid git, get up!"

"Charlie…" Bill's voice was just as strained, coming to kneel beside his immediate younger brother.

"What the hell do you think you're doing lying around like that? There's a bloody war going on! You don't have time to slack off!" A beat then a choke. "Damn it, Ron, get up! It wasn't supposed to be —this can't be happening! You can't seriously be —!"

"Charlie, please don't…"

"IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THIS WAY, BILL!" Charlie lashed out oh so violently as he seized Ron by the shoulders and shook the lanky boy hard. "RON, HE—HE'S JUST COME OF AGE! HE HAD HIS WHOLE LIFE AHEAD OF HIM! HE WAS SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE THIS STUPID WAR, GET A JOB, SETTLE DOWN AND LIVE ON WITH A BUNCH OF KIDS UNTIL ALL THAT RED HAIR TURNS GRAY AND OLD!

"BUT THEN THE SOD JUST GOES OFF LIKE SOME GODDAMN HERO AS IF THAT'S FINE AND FUCKING DANDY BUT IT'S NOT! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO DITCH US ALL LIKE THIS, YOU STUPID GIGANTIC PRICK, SO QUIT LYING AROUND AND GET THE FUCK UP, RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!"

The tirade only made Molly cry harder, unable to scold her son for his uncouth language and instead clutching onto Ron as hard as she could. Fleur gently took Ginny to her arms, sobbing and shaking along with her while Bill had his arms full of his most volatile little brother.

"Stop," said Bill with all the firmness he could muster—so little, barely there—as he gently pulled Charlie back. "Stop it, Charlie, he's gone. He's gone, he's not going to wake up. He's never going to wake up again no matter what we do, Charlie, n—no matter how badly we want him to…"

"HE'S NOT GONE, BILL! HE'S NOT—HE CAN'T—! HE—" Then with a roar, like a cry of a dying dragon, Charlie careened forward, clutching his dead brother and howling unceasingly. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier, I'm sorry for never being around but I'm here! Big brother's here now and big brother's not leaving you ever again just please…don't do this...! Goddamnit, Ronnie, please…!"

"…Ron…" Bill let out a ragged breath, keeping an arm around Charlie as he tipped forward, pressing his head against Ron's cold, bruised cheek, his grief soft yet just as broken, just as lost as the rest of them. Just as in pleading and in denial. "Oh Merlin, Ronnie…Ronnie…"

Beside his family, bloodshot eyes streaming endless tears and staring blankly ahead, was Fred muttering over and over, "It should have been me. It should have been me. Oh God why hadn't it been me?"

FLASH! CRACK! BOOM!

A thunderclap, and a pair of blue eyes opened, sitting up to near darkness. Ronald Bilius Weasley let out a heavy gasp, a small hand grasping at the fabric of his frayed, little shirt, short wild hair framing a round face, taking in the sight of the messy bedroom of Quidditch toys and childish trinkets.

But the eyes gazing on everything were far older, and the headache building up behind them caused by more than his abrupt awakening from the sudden crack of thunder overhead.

A casual broom ride to side start the morning. Being the Keeper for the Gryffindor team chanting "Weasley is our King!"

A filling lunch in the Burrow courtesy of his mother. Reading about the Gringotts break-in over tea and rock cakes at Hagrid's.

Throwing gnomes over the garden with Ginny. The bloody writing on the wall that read "Her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever".

Percy acting pompous over his prefect badge. The awful day Percy chose the Ministry and Fudge over his family.

Fred and George retching behind their older brother in teasing disgust. The wall dangerously swaying over Fred's head and the blinding pain that followed.

He was an eleven year-old-boy looking forward to his first year in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He was an eighteen-year-old time traveling war veteran on a mission.

"Ron?"

The boy's eyes immediately flew open, his right hand flicking in reflex for his wand only to find something else in his grasp, and for half a second later to remember that he was supposed to be an eleven year old without a wand.

Yet.

"Bill?" He said slowly, blinking just to be sure that the image in front of him was really that of his oldest brother. It was rather difficult that his eyes registered a younger, scar and stress-free Bill when his mind kept going back to the haggard, war-torn brother who wept so brokenly over his broken body with the rest of their family.

But why was Bill here? Shouldn't he be in Egypt with the goblins?

"Ron, are you OK?" He must have paused long enough for the concern in Bill's face to double visibly. "We heard you shouting."

We? It was only then that Ron noticed the other figures standing behind the eldest Weasley brother: Ginny, peeking behind Bill's leg, then Fred and George on either of Bill's shoulder.

"Was it another spider again?" Charlie's voice drawled from somewhere too far for Ron to see. "Can we just kill the bloody thing and go to bed already? It's too early to be up even for his acceptance party."

Acceptance party? Ron paused over that last bit while he searched the room for a calendar. True enough, on one side of the room next to a Chudley Cannon's poster, was a calendar page dated July 1991, with all the numbers from 1 to 21 crossed out in red.

Bloody hell, I really am in the past! A day after I got my acceptance letter!

So that was why Bill was here—he came home on vacation to join the family in celebrating both Charlie leaving home for his dream dragon taming job and Ron's acceptance to Hogwarts.

To think It sent him this far back! He would have gone back and hugged the life out of It if he could. Think of the lives he could save! Of the things he could change for the better! Hell, he could probably do something to make sure Sirius doesn't have to live on the run in the first place because of that blasted Pettigrew!

Speaking of the damn rat—

"Oi, Ron!"

"Gah!" The red head nearly fell off his bed when he realized that Charlie was waving a hand on his face. Merlin, did he sound this shrill as a kid? No wonder Charlie and Fred often complained about his voice! "Charlie, what the hell?"

"I should be the one asking you that. First you wake us with your screaming match with the thunderstorm and now you're just staring in space." Said older brother leaned back up with his arms crossed and a frown. In Ron's inattentiveness, he failed to notice again that his two eldest siblings had filed into his room, though he did hear Percy quietly shoo the twins and Ginny back to sleep and to leave Ron to Bill and Charlie.

"Where are Mum and Dad?" Ron blurted before he could stop himself. The remaining two brothers traded glances before Bill cleared his throat. "We told them we would handle it. Mum's got a big day tomorrow remember, and so do you."

"Oh, right. Sorry." That must have been the wrong thing to say, because Ron heard Charlie stumble on the verge of saying something before feeling his bed sag.

Bill's blue eyes were kind in front of Ron as he laid a warm hand on the boy's shoulder. "Was it a nightmare, Ronnie?"

A nightmare? Ron wanted to laugh bitterly at the question. More like the future getting shot to hell because of fucking Voldemort. But what else can he say that won't sound utterly deranged or ridiculous?

"I guess it was. I…I don't really remember." Ron dropped his eyes to his lap, moving his hands so they could curl at the blanket over it. "I probably won't be able to talk about it even if I wanted to."

"Was it anything important, you reckon?"

A matter of life and a hundred deaths. "No, I don't think so. Not something I should have woken you all up for. Maybe it was about a spider, that's why I don't want to remember it." Ron finished in a weak attempt for a joke to cover the fact that his voice still sounded a bit shaky. "Bloody eight legged fr—things."

His words may not be all truth but the trepidation in his body was very real. He couldn't stand to look at Bill or Charlie too long without remembering their grief over his death.

Especially Charlie.

Never in Ron's wildest dreams would he ever imagine his tough as nails, could eat dragons for breakfast big brother falling apart so completely the way the older Weasley had back at the Great Hall, nor was it something Ron ever wanted to see again.

A heavy hand landed on his head, making Ron look up to its owner while it ruffled his hair.

"Well if it's not that important, then try cheering up some more, Ronnie." Charlie said with a teasing grin on his face, as energetic and cheerful as he always should be. "Can't have our future Hogwarts student being so down on his special day, eh? Mum's gonna throw a fit!"

Doubt that, was the instinctive acerbic rejoinder but Ron squashed it with a grin back. "Don't you mean your special day, Charlie? Leaving us behind to live your dream of chumming up with the dragons?"

Charlie's laughter was a comforting boom in the backdrop of Ron's migraine. "Aww, what's this? Little Ronnie's gonna miss me too much?"

You have no idea. "As if! Now there's only Fred and George I gotta worry about in Hogwarts!"

"All right, children, that's enough." Bill said over the two with barely smothered laughter. "Go on back, Charlie. I can take it from here now."

The second oldest brother gazed at Bill again before making a show of stretching his arms and yawning exaggeratedly. "Well, this late-night impromptu thing has been fun, but I need my sleep. See you in the morning, Ronniekins!"

Ron scowled half-heartedly as he watched Charlie exit the room with a wave. "He could have slept through the whole thing, the git."

"Language, Ronnie." The last remaining Weasley chided lightly. "And you should be getting back to sleep too. Last I checked, it's only two in the morning."

"'M not a baby anymore, Bill. And you need to get some sleep in too." Ron said, his mind finally having caught up with this life's current timeline. "You just got back from Gringotts a few hours ago. You must be dead tired. I'll be fine by myself. Sorry again for waking you."

A flicker of surprise passed by Bill's face as Ron helped himself back on his bed, making Ron raise a brow in confusion. Was it something he said? "Err, Bill?"

"Nothing, it's just—" Bill shook his head. "You don't have to apologize for something like that, bud. And it doesn't matter how old you are all going to get, I'll always play big brother whenever I have to be."

I know. Ron had to smile at the thought while Bill arranged the blankets over him.

Back then, it had been a bit frustrating for Ron that he was never truly able to break out of the baby brother image that Bill and Charlie seemed content to fit him into. But after having been through everything he did, Ron realized that his brothers' support and care for him was one of the many things he stupidly took for granted.

That whenever they had been around (however rare that may be), the two oldest brothers had always done their best to be the parental figures Ron barely had in his life because his parents were too busy with something (everything) else.

"Thanks, Bill." He said as sincerely as he could, even if Bill would never know that it wasn't just for tonight that Ron was thanking him for.

Bill looked taken aback for the second time that night before smiling softly and smoothing out the hair Charlie had ruffled carelessly earlier. "Anytime, Ronnie." He said before planting a kiss on the boy's forehead.

I'm not letting that bastard Fenrir hurt you again, Bill. I won't let you or anyone else die, not if I can help it. Ron felt for the deluminator he hid under his pillow. I'll be the invisibility cloak that will keep all of you from meeting It until you're all old, graying and ready to go.

He tightened his grip on the cool metal, and felt it hum in power.

I promise.

The whole July 21st party had been as lively as Ron remembered it.

To start off, his whole family—parents and siblings—were all in attendance. His mother prepared a mouthwatering feast of roast beef, mushroom cream pasta, Yorkshire pudding, chicken legs and treacle pudding topped off by a three layer chocolate sponge cake. There had been no shortage of gifts either for both the new Hogwarts student and the new dragon tamer, as even Ginny managed to give him and Charlie something.

And Ron threw himself into the celebrations as was expected of him: acting the entitled future Hogwarts student while rubbing his acceptance letter in the faces of his non-believing brothers (Charlie and the twins), gorging on the all the food he could get his hands on, and joining his siblings' Quidditch games.

But try as he might, Ron couldn't bring himself to muster the giddy energy he remembered having years ago. In fact, he felt that everything he had been doing was so forced he was worried it would show. Yet so far, no one called him in on being off or anything, making Ron inwardly shake his head.

What was I worried about? It's not like everyone's paid enough attention to me to notice.

Before, the thought of that would send Ron in a spiral of self-pity and bitterness. But there none of that now; to be quite honest, Ron was thankful for his ability to remain invisible. It gave him breathing room to think.

The red head made a mental check of the timeline. So I've gone as far back as the day I got my Hogwarts letter. That means Charlie will be leaving tomorrow, and Bill, on Thursday. We won't be going to Diagon Alley for my additional supplies until late August. What can I do before then?

He directed a pawn forward against Percy's as he thought on this. The two brothers ended up playing a chess game on the newly cleared kitchen table at Ron's request while the other siblings restarted another Quidditch match. Percy had been pleasantly surprised when Ron did so, but did not turn down the invite.

It gnawed at Ron's chest to see Percy unashamedly happy over this. While Ron won't deny that the bespectacled red head can be annoying with his pompousness, self-righteous air and being a stickler for the rules, Percy was also insightful in his own way, acting with his family's best interest at heart, and was eager to help all of his siblings should they only ask.

But what did Percy get in return? Merciless teasing, being treated like an embarrassment, never feeling like he belonged in his own family.

Ron had no right to be furious over Percy leaving the Weasleys. Actually, none of them had. With the way Percy had been treated by most of them, Ron realized that Percy having enough was only a matter of when.

Seeing things at hindsight was both enlightening and frightening.

Ron frowned while he watched Percy's knight thrash his pawn. I was such a foul git those years ago, too busy moaning over my problems and wallowing to see that you have had it worse. We could have been there for each other. I could have really stopped you from leaving the family, but I let you down first, huh, Perce?

" And you, I thought you would be different. I thought we would have something in common. That we could really be brothers!"

"Hey, Perce?"

"Yes?"

"Err…" Ron paused before taking a breath. "I was looking at the book list I got from the acceptance letter, and, well, some of the subjects sounded really interesting."

Percy gave him an approving smile behind horn-rimmed glasses. "It's good that you're showing interest in your studies so early, Ron. That's a sign that you'll go far. Which subjects are you referring to?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts." Ron said automatically. "And Charms. Transfiguration too, though from what I've been hearing from Fred and George, it's downright hard."

"Transfiguration is a very delicate subject which requires the right amount of concentration, intent and the proper recitation of the incantation." Percy explained. In the past, it may have sounded standoffish, but the Ron now could hear the hint of warmth in the words. "It is indeed a challenging subject, and the current teacher, Professor McGonagall can be strict to the point of intimidating. Still, Transfiguration is a worthy branch of magic should you choose to invest time and effort in it. The same can also be said of Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms."

"But don't worry." The older brother said reassuringly after directing his rook into Ron's territory. "They won't be giving you anything too complicated for now. Your first two years are more of helping you get used to tapping into your magical core to more direct applications of magic, after all."

"Thanks, Perce." Ron waited for his Queen to finish pummeling Percy's knight before adding. "And, uhm, I know you're still studying for your OWLs and all, but maybe…if you have some time, you could…?"

"Help you go over the First Year material?" Not that Ron needed it (he's technically a seventh year! Not even he was that stupid!), but the beaming smile he got from Percy when he nodded in assent made him firmly believe that he made the right decision. "I would be delighted to, Ron! You'll be getting Charlie's old books, right? I believe he and Bill wrote some helpful notes on the margins that we could start with!"

Ron listened obligingly to his older brother's excitement—over helping him, of all things—while his mind went back to what Percy casually mentioned.

Notes. That's right! If Ron wanted to make sure that he will have everything covered for the next seven years, he'll have to write down as much as he could remember from all the crazy shit that had happened to him, Harry and Hermione. Since he was already making the first step in changing the future by reaching out to Percy, what better time to start doing that than after the whole party?

But first, Ron smirked over the board. He had a chess game to win.

After all of the food had been eaten, all the gifts had been unwrapped and all the games had been played, Ron was finally able to rest in the privacy of his attic room, Charlie's old things and his gifts all laid out on the bed.

But at the moment, only two things mattered to him: the blank notebook he had gotten from his father, and the cage that contained the source of Ron's current ire.

Peter motherfucking Pettigrew.

Percy had gotten Hermes from their parents during the party as a reward for becoming Prefect. Ron, in turn, had been given "Scabbers" so that the youngest Weasley boy will have his own pet by the time school came.

It took all of Ron's strength to just scowl begrudgingly at the over-sized rodent instead of flinging the cage to the wall like he really badly wanted.

How dare this sniveling excuse of a coward not only betray Harry's parents to Voldemort and leave Sirius to rot in Azkaban, but also use his family as a shield and a lookout point for more than ten years?

The implications of what could have been had only truly hit Ron when he came clean with his family about Pettigrew on his Fifth year. He remembered how distraught Molly had been over what Pettigrew could have done to their family, especially to himself and Percy, during the 12 years they've had him. The sickening thought came crashing back to him while he gazed on the fat rat snoozing quietly in his cage.

Damn you to hell, Peter Pettigrew, you sniveling bastard. Ron clenched his fists while shooting his most venomous glare at the pathetic creature. Oh how sorely tempted he was to grab a wand and hex the right bastard to high heaven right now. But now wasn't the time to do anything about the rat. He didn't even have a wand with him at the moment. Charlie won't be sending over his old wand until mid August.

What Ron needed was a plan—not just with Pettigrew, but with the rest of his mission.

That was where the notebook he got from his father would come in handy.

Ron was grateful for his father's foresight in the gift. It was a simple enough brown leather bound notebook, but with the added feature of privacy charms that would keep nosy eyes (siblings) from seeing the contents without his magical signature acting as the key to unlocking it.

Definitely the right notebook for the job, Ron noted to himself as he sat on his bed with his notebook and a quill, with Pettigrew's cage positioned on his desk as far as possible from him.

First things first, Ron wrote on the section he titled "The Pettigrew Problem", have his mother charm the cage so that "Scabbers" stays locked in his cage. Ron made his displeasure on having a rat for a pet quite clear to everyone so it won't be suspicious to Pettigrew as to why his new master acted so sullenly around him. That will keep that rat where Ron wanted him until something better comes up.

The next order of business would be to relearning First Year material. While he was sure that he can cast First Year spells in his sleep, Ron knew that he needed to catch up on theory. On the section he designated for First Year Material, he listed the subjects in order of how much effort he needed to put in on them.

History of Magic, Transfiguration, Potions, Astronomy, Herbology, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts. Ron looked over his list with a thoughtful hum after a few revisions here and there.

In Ron's opinion, his current strongest subjects—one where it won't take him too long to relearn theory and practice— are Charms and Defense. And since he still knew squat about History of Magic after all this time, he resolved to double his efforts on learning it this time around, though he would most likely deviate from Binn's curriculum. Ron felt that had he paid attention to history, in particular the first Wizarding War, he may have learned more about both sides of the second one. They were born from the same ideology after all.

"Not bad." Ron murmured to himself, still half in disbelief over the fact that he was actually planning his moves when in the past he would have just lazed around until school started. He promised Death and Snape that he wouldn't be slacking off this time around.

Snape. Ron groaned. Facing him in this timeline won't be any easier. After everything he'd learned of the man, it would be difficult for him to not look at Snape with some form of empathy that the Legilimens will most likely easily pick up on. Not to mention Dumbledore. Ron didn't know how to look at the Headmaster either.

He's a tough one, all right. Manipulative and secretive. Ron mused. Someone like that will definitely not like things being kept from him. Well too damn bad, Dumbledore, but this is one secret you're not going to let yourself into so easily.

He had already decided that he wouldn't be telling anyone about his time travel, not anytime soon. Too much was riding on not changing things beyond Ron's control, and he didn't trust Dumbledore to not make his own plans once he got everything he wanted from Ron. But there were things Dumbledore did that Ron begrudgingly admitted were for the best: not immediately telling Harry about the prophecy, for one.

Telling Harry at eleven was a stupid move, obviously. There was also the question on how Ron got his hands on such sensitive information that will force the time traveler to keep quiet about it. Perhaps on their Fourth or early Fifth year would have been best, but with Harry being a walking raging disaster at the time, was it really? The more Ron thought about it, the more Ron figured that the Prophecy had put Dumbledore in a difficult position. It was one that Ron wasn't certain that he would be able to make the correct decision were he in the old man's shoes.

But what about the rest of Dumbledore's actions regarding Sirius and Pettigrew, Snape and Malfoy? And the incident with the Philosopher's Stone that's about to come?

"Shit." Ron banged the back of his head against the wall, knowing full well that the ghoul wouldn't mind the noise. This is a whole lot more complicated than I thought it would be. And I haven't even gotten to the part on what to do about Harry…or Hermione…

Merlin, how he missed his friends. How he missed her. They'll certainly be able to do a lot better than he is now. Bitterness clenched at his chest. Why couldn't it have been them who had this chance? Why did it have to be the good for nothing Ronald Weasley?

The boy took a breath to calm himself before glancing down his notebook again.

"Thinking that way won't get you anywhere, Ronald." Ron said in the most Hermione-like way he could make himself sound. Think of the lives you have to save. The lives you can change for the better if you succeed.

Ron flipped his notebook back to the very first page that he left blank and, with a stern blue gaze, scribbled down.

Cedric Diggory. Sirius Black. Severus Snape. Lavender Brown. Colin Creevey. Remus Lupin. Tonks. Albus Dumbledore.

Harry Potter.

It was a short list, woefully incomplete, but for now it was enough of a reminder.

Ron read and re-read the names before steeling himself again.

He was Ronald Bilius Weasley, eighteen years old, war veteran, time traveler, a man on a mission.

And by Merlin, he will succeed if it's the last thing he'll ever do.

Happy New Year's, everyone! How's that for the start of Book 1?

I know Charlie technically didn't show up until the second half of the Wizarding War (right when Harry showed up "dead" then Gwarp and the centaurs came charging in), but let's just say that Charlie went ahead of his mates from Romania to check on his family then went back to lead the charge, eh?

...

Oh come on, work with me here please? :D

I forgot to add this, but the scene back in the last chapter with Ron being ignored by Harry and Hermione while they were looking for a spell for their homework was inspired by a scene in Stay Standing by Windschild8178. Honestly, the way she wrote it was way better than how I did mine. Check out her fanfics! They're all worth the read! She's a huge inspiration for this fanfic so shout out to her and her glorious works!

As I always say with my fanfics, I am NOT abandoning this. It just takes...a while before the rest of the chapters follow. Ahem.

Please and kindly leave a review if you liked the story! Thought, comments and suggestions are always welcome!

Have an awesome year end, everyone!

UP NEXT: The summer before his First Year, Ron's got his work cut out for him, from pulling a Hermione to bonding with his family. Because as everyone knows, everything starts with the foundation, and Ron better make it good.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two:

The Art of Relearning

It was already past ten in the evening.

By now, almost everyone in the Weasley household had already gone to bed after an enjoyable but exhausting day of celebrating. But instead of turning in like the rest or even doing some last-minute checks on the luggage, Bill found his immediate younger brother in the kitchen table, gaze fixed on a half-full mug of hot chocolate.

Bill coughed. "Something wrong, Charlie?"

Charlie's blank gaze moved from the mug to Bill's blue eyes. "Bill? What are you still doing up?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just checking on whether everyone's tucked in all right. You know, like the old days."

"I'm eighteen and off to Romania tomorrow morning. You don't have to check on me anymore."

"I'm well aware." Bill answered with a shrug. "But like I always tell all of you, even when you're already changing someone else's nappies, I'll always play big brother when I think I have to."

"Sod off." Charlie said without any real heat.

"But seriously, Charlie, what's bothering you? And don't say it's nothing." Bill added before Charlie could interrupt. "You wouldn't be staring at that mug for the last five minutes if that were the case."

"…How long have you been watching me?"

"Five minutes, Charlie, I just said. Pay attention."

The teen scoffed before downing a bit of the no longer ignored hot chocolate. Bill waited patiently.

"…He's been acting off all day."

"Who?" Bill had a sinking feeling who Charlie was referring to, and the shorter red head proved him right.

"Ron. You noticed it too, didn't you? Since last night?"

How can Bill not? Before then, Ron had been the way Bill had expected him to be: energetic and eager, excited about being a Hogwarts first year, so easy to rile up because the boy wore his heart in his sleeve.

But the Ron last night? The little boy who had become timid and unsure, with eyes seemingly older than Bill's? Who suddenly developed a sense of intuition and empathy beyond what Ron—or any eleven-year-old for that matter—should possess?

If Bill didn't know better, he would have thought his brother grew up another ten years older while sleeping.

(But that's crazy talk!)

It was relieving to know that Bill hadn't been the only one to notice. Charlie may tease the heck out of Ron, but Bill knew just as certainly the sun always rose east that Ron was Charlie's favorite. And nothing about Ron ever went past Charlie, not if the second Weasley son could help it.

The new dragon tamer breathed deeply. "I thought that, whatever it was last night, another bit of sleep would have put an end to it. But earlier, Bill, Ron he…I don't know how else to say it, but he looked like he was—"

"Acting." Bill finished with a tired sigh, having kept a subtle eye on his littlest brother throughout the day himself. Because he had enough practice in the art of acting engaged while his mind was elsewhere—a skill he needed to learn while toeing around the Goblins—Bill was sensitive to the difference between genuinely enjoying or merely pretending. And no matter how hard Bill tried to see otherwise, his baby brother was definitely the latter. Even more worrying for the oldest was the fact that Ron had been so good at playing the part that it literally went past everyone's noses.

Except for him and Charlie, who had gone white at the declaration.

"You've got to be shitting me! I—I wanted to think that—! I thought it was just me but," Charlie ran a hand through his unruly hair. "But why? Why does Ron even have to pretend to enjoy his own party? His bloody acceptance to Hogwarts party, for Merlin's sake? And over what? Over some stupid nightmare that he doesn't remember?"

Over a nightmare he claims not to remember. A voice in Bill's head piped up but he forced it quiet. Ron may be in that age where he'd try to play it tough—especially in front of Charlie who he so idolized—but he wouldn't lie about anything that disturbed him so.

Not to Bill.

"…You reckon we tell Mum and Dad?" Charlie asked quietly, sounding unsure for the first time in ages.

The Curse Breaker mulled over the query before shaking his head. "I don't think so. Not yet. But I won't let this go, Charlie."

The other Weasley gave him a flat look. Bill sighed.

"As much as you and I hate it, you know there's nothing we can do now. You'll be in Romania in a few hours and I'll be in Egypt within the week. The most I can come up with is to ask Percy and the twins to keep an eye on Ron."

"Ha! Percy will probably keep a better eye on his badge than Ron. And the twins? Really, Bill? The twins?" While Charlie trusted Fred and George with many things—like having good heads on their shoulders to keep the house safe from their pranks—taking good care of Ron was definitely not one of them.

"Charlie, don't be like that. The twins may be a bit…over the top with their teasing on Ron," ("Understatement." Charlie muttered under his breath) "But they do care. They and Percy. I know they do. I'm sure they'll watch over Ron if I ask them seriously. And to let us know if anything else is out of the ordinary."

"Are you going to tell them about the way Ron's been acting up?"

"No, and I hope it doesn't come to the point that we have to." Maybe it's just a phase. Something to do with that nightmare. Maybe given some time, hopefully without any more terrors, Ron would be back to the eager little bugger they all knew and loved. And then years later, Bill would look back and laugh at himself for worrying so much over nothing.

Charlie bit his lip while fidgeting with his mug.

"Charlie?"

"Tell me I'm going overboard, Bill. Tell me that it's just me being paranoid." Charlie met his brother's gaze again. "Tell me that Ron's going to be OK."

Bill couldn't help but smile. If Ron only knew how much of a soft spot Charlie had for him…

"He will, Charlie. He will be."

And Bill begged to Merlin that he was right.

Cold cruel laughter. Sharp wands poking and prodding. A scarred sneering man with a claw.

"Crucio!" "Crucio!" "Crucio!"

Searing hot pain. Splattering blood. Cracking bone. Hanging limbs.

"Least loved by the mother who craved a daughter."

White masks on cloaks. Jeering smiles with teeth. Mountains of corpses.

Black hair over dead green eyes.

Cold cruel laughter.

"I have seen your heart, Ronald Weasley. And it is mine."

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"NO!" Ron was jolted awake, eyes wild and groping desperately for his wand. Not again! Not this! I didn't escape just to get bloody caught all over again! I'm not going back to that pit! Come at me if you dare, you bastards! You're not taking me alive!

And where the bloody fuck is my—? But when his hand hit cool metal, grasped the smooth rectangle in his hand, his mind burst with clarity. – Oh.

The dark rocky walls turned into bright orange with Chudley Cannons posters. The stench of blood and excrement faded into the smell of grass, musk, wood and home. He raised his hand, its weathered palm and scratched fingers replaced by smooth skin and smaller digits clutching instead of a wand, a deluminator.

A dream. Ron swallowed heavily, eyes training worriedly on his bedroom door. Get a sodding grip, Weasley! It was a dream. You're not with the snatchers. You're not even seventeen anymore. You're eleven, in the Burrow, and Voldemort's still a shitload of his old self. Stop your damn shaking before someone sees you!

It was only after a few more seconds of blissful silence that Ron finally relaxed, lifting the hand with the deluminator to rest it on his chest.

The last time he had a nightmare brought all of his siblings in here. And while he did appreciate that they cared enough to do that, Ron really, really wished they wouldn't right now. The "I don't remember my scary nightmare" excuse can only go so far.

His eyes drifted to his desk, where a certain fat rat was snoozing without a care, and was tempted to fling the cage to the floor. Instead, he stood up with a stretch and made his way to the window.

Having the topmost floor of the Burrow to himself (not counting the ghoul) meant Ron had the best view overlooking his home. Harry always did like seeing the sunrise from the window, Ron remembered, from where the rays would peek out bit by bit from the green slopes and lush tree leaves beyond the glass.

Right now, however, there was no trace of the sun in the sky, but there were hardly any more stars either.

Still too early for the old Ron to be up and about, but the Ron now would not be able to sleep again after the nightmare he just had. Since the boy was planning on waking up earlier in the first place, he thought it was best to put his time awake to good use.

He grabbed a jumper and a pair of track bottoms.

Between nibbling his quill and scratching at the parchment last night, Ron was able to come up with a rough plan for the rest of the summer.

He would wake up at around five in the morning for a bit of a run and some exercises for an hour followed by an hour of reading in History of Magic. Come eight, Ron would join everyone in the kitchen for breakfast, afterwards he'd help around the house until nine, play some Quidditch or whatever game his siblings fancied until eleven, then lunch at twelve.

The whole afternoon will then be dedicated to reading—one and a half hour each for Transfiguration, Potions and Astronomy until seven, for dinner. After which Ron would resume his reading on nine until eleven, an hour for Herbology then half an hour each for Charms and Defense, before going to bed.

It looked like a load of work. But for the first time in his life, Ron was looking forward to the prospect of it. Not only did it make him feel that he was making progress with his second chance, but being busy also kept his mind too distracted to be occupied by nightmares.

Ron would later experience that the briefest of lull periods would bring in the most random images from the past, be it the face of a dead friend, the sensation of slick blood and pain licking his limbs, or the stench of charred wood and flesh. Even a hand on the shoulder could make Ron jump like his arse had been struck by a poker.

(And if the boy had a wand, the twins wouldn't have found his reactions as funny as they did.)

So the red head youth did whatever he could to keep himself occupied, not only through studying but also through being a constant presence in the Burrow. When back then the young wizard would keep to himself unless pulled out of his room for chores, or it was time for meals, Ron would now actively help out in the house, be it his mother in the kitchen, his dad in the shed, or in the garden.

He also made an effort to spend more time with his siblings, including Percy. Ron come to learn that, after seeing beyond the older brother's snotty, know-it-all façade, Percy was a pretty good teacher and was surprisingly patient and efficient in answering Ron's questions in most subjects, even History of Magic.

Especially History of Magic, in fact…

"Wow, Percy! The way you know loads about History of Magic, I bet you can give the current teacher a run for his galleons!" Ron's words were no exaggeration in his part. Already, the young red head already learned more from a couple of hours with Percy than he ever had from those years with Binns.

If he didn't know that Percy wanted to become a Ministry official, he would have thought the guy was planning to become the next (and improved) History of Magic professor!

The older Weasley coughed, ears turning red. "Hardly, Ron. I just find History of Magic very fascinating and read a lot about the subject. That certainly does not qualify me to teach it."

"I heard that the current professor in that subject is a boring dud, though!"

"Been listening to Charlie and the twins, have you? Well, Professor Binns, the current History of Magic professor, is a," Another cough. "Very experienced and, err, passionate teacher, albeit in one particular period in history. But he has tenure and…"

That made Ron roll his eyes. Of course Percy would try his best to say something nice about an authority figure, even one that has hardly any redeeming qualities.

But then Percy suddenly dropped his voice. "All right, Ron, between you and me, the only thing Binn's classes is good for is that you get an extra hour and a half to do your own thing."

Good thing Ron wasn't drinking anything, or he would have spit it all out. "Wh—what?"

"Not that I'm encouraging you to gallivant around, mind you. But as you will experience yourself, Binns never really pays attention to what his students are doing in class. You could all be sleeping or quite frankly gone, but he'll still go on about goblins. Don't really know why he's so interested in them anyway…

The bespectacled brother shrugged. "What I'm saying is that after a few days, when he has most likely taught all he can teach you—surprise, it's all about the goblin-wizard war—it wouldn't hurt to bring books and homework on other subjects to his class and, well, make better use of your time."

To Percy, this must be something akin to admitting that he cuts classes. Ron thought, mystified.

"That's…pretty good advice, Perce. I'll keep it in mind. Thanks."

Who would have thought that that subject taught by the most boring professor in Hogwarts is actually Percy's favorite? Certainly not Ron.

(It certainly showed how little he knew about Percy)

The older brother had been very passionate in explaining just why he loved history so much too, but the phrase that stuck the most was, "How can we expect to not repeat the sins of the past if we don't learn from them?" It hit Ron in more ways than the new Prefect could have known, not only because Ron agreed, but because he also found it bloody ironic that it was Percy of all people who had that kind of mindset.

Still, the tutoring sessions he had with Percy had been enjoyable, and Ron learned from Percy far more than just about academics. Even if Fred and George took the mickey out of him for spending time with Percy, it was all worth it.

Though Ron found it quite strange, because he didn't remember the twins bothering him this much before. In fact, for the most part in the past, the twins kept to themselves more often than not; and whenever the weren't out to make fun of Ron and Ginny while not doing their experiments, they'll make sure that Ron stays out of the way (more specifically, out of their room).

Not to say that he stopped spending time with the twins lately—he certainly did not reject them when they'd invite him to tag along, even if it's just to be a victim of a prank Ron could now see coming—but with everything he's been trying to study and spending more time with the rest of his family, Ron found himself not hanging onto the prospect of being included by Fred and George as much as before.

You'd think that the twins would be a lot happier with me now that I'm not hounding them like I used to, like a kicked pup begging to be in on their fun or something. The time traveler thought. So why are they pranking me more than they did before? Or maybe I'm just looking too hard into it. It's not just me they're pranking more than usual. Percy's been complaining about it too.

And it's not like they're singling me and Percy out, are they? That would be—

"RON! STOP SPACING OUT! THE GNOME'S GETTING AWAY!"

…Bugger. Currently, Ron was out in the garden with Ginny for their daily de-gnoming. With Arthur already in the office, Molly hard at work in the kitchen cleaning up after breakfast, and their older brothers locked away in their rooms, the two youngest children had the garden to themselves.

Much to Ginny's chagrin because the place was crawling with the little snot faced critters.

To take her irritation out of the task, Ron had suggested to make a game out of the chore by making it a contest of how many gnomes they can catch and how far they can throw them. Problem was, Ron's mind kept wandering about too much that Ginny's irritation seemed to be switching to his inattentiveness instead.

"Sorry about that." The eighteen-turned-eleven said sheepishly after catching the errant gnome and with a few swings, threw the screaming thing an impressive three feet away. "So that's what, my fifteenth?"

"Nothing compared to my eighteen though!" Another gnome soared screeching into the air. "Make that nineteen!"

"You're getting pretty good at this."

"Only because you're not paying attention." Ginny huffed. "And I still can't throw as far as you!"

"Give it time, Gin-Gin. I bet you're gonna put those chasers in the Harpies to shame." Ron remarked teasingly.

Ginny's cheeks flushed. "Don't be ridiculous! I—It's not that I can play Quidditch! I can't even ride a broom yet!"

Oh, right. At this time, none of us knew that Ginny would sneak out and ride our brothers' brooms. Ron sighed. Not even me.

Wasn't there a time when he and Ginny used to share everything about each other? He always thought that the divide between them started during Hogwarts when he became too focused on his own troubles and on being friends with Harry that he began to neglect Ginny. But had it actually been this early?

First with Percy and now Ginny too? Man, I really suck at being a brother!

"Ron, you're doing it again…"

"It's just that who knows, right?" The boy finally shrugged in response. "Think about it, we've got a whole lot of cool Quidditch players in the family. It's practically in our bloodline! Maybe you'll be just as good as Charlie or the twins, is all I'm saying."

"Huh…" Ginny fell quiet for a moment, which made Ron sweat inside in concern.

"Err, Gin—?"

"You really think that?" His sister's query was so soft that the time traveler nearly missed it.

"Think what? That you could be a good Quidditch player?" Definitely. I've already seen it happen. "I might, but I'll need to see you fly first."

The ginger haired girl shook her head. "But I'm not allowed to—!"

"Bullocks! You're gonna be having flying lessons in a couple of years anyway. What's wrong with starting early?" Ron's eyes widened at what he said before hurriedly adding. "At least, that's what I heard from Charlie once. Bloke thinks first years not being allowed to have a broomstick or to join the Quidditch team is an injustice, you know."

"…You'll let me fly?"

"If you don't mind this scrawny git joining you, and you don't tell mum how much I've been swearing, then sure." Ron held a thumbs up. "Then we're gonna knock the pants out of the twins when we show them how awesome we are up in the air."

His mother might skin his hide if she found out he encouraged Ginny. But after seeing how a great flier she can be in the future, Ron figured it was going to be worth it.

(And it's not that the rest of his brothers hadn't snuck behind Molly's back to fly before. Ron was pretty sure even Percy tried it at least once!)

The way Ginny's eyes suddenly glittered like twin dark diamonds made Ron's heart lurch. The girl's smile was as brilliant as her gaze. When was the last time his little sister had looked at him like that? "Deal."

I may suck at being a brother, Ron thought firmly. But I'm going try to not be so bad at it anymore.

Saving the world, one baby step at a time, huh?

…

…Double bugger—!

"—O—OI, GINNY, THAT GNOME IS GETTING AWAY!"

Come mid-August, and right on schedule, Charlie's old wand finally arrived.

It was Arthur who handed the old thing to Ron as in the past, and the man chuckled the same way he once did when Ron waved his second hand wand around as if it were some sort of trophy.

The eleven years old Ron did so because it was tangible proof that he was a real wizard. The eighteen-turned-eleven years old Ron did because finally, finally, he can do some magic!

Back in the past, the thought of being tracked doing underage magic through the trace was something that loomed over the heads of all Hogwarts students, and even Ron, whose parents observed a strict policy of no underage magic use at home, had been right worried enough about that to not even try pull it off.

But as it turns out, according to Hermione's research on the subject, Purebloods (and Hogwarts students who live with wizards) don't have to worry after all.

It may not be clear to Ron when, where and how the trace was cast, but what Hermione found out is that it works like an alarm that signals the Ministry if magic has been used. However, while the trace does activate when an underage wizard living in a wizarding community (i.e. purebloods) uses magic, the amount of magic already present in the area and the fact that the trace also picks up magic used by of age wizards would often lead to the incident being ignored or sometimes even unnoticed.

The ones who are strictly monitored for underage magic are, in fact, the underage wizard students who do not live in wizarding communities, mostly muggleborns.

It was bloody unfair, Hermione complained strongly and really, Ron felt for her, but it was also the reality of it then. It is the reality of it now.

Knowledge that Ron intended to put into good use.

Making sure that Scabbers was fast asleep in his cage (stuffing the rat until his stomach becomes the size of a ping pong ball does the trick every time), Ron quickly performed the silencing and privacy charms—Hermione had all but drilled those spells into his and Harry's heads before they went into hiding—on the rodent's cage and in his room in preparation for what he called in his notes as "practical relearning."

He and Charlie's old wand did not get along, period. Even in his first year, the wand felt uncomfortable in his hands to the point that it felt like he was lifting a dead piece of wood. Hermione mentioned once that unicorn core wands are especially known for their loyalty, and do not switch allegiances as easily as the wands made of the other two prized cores. Ron had no idea how he'll go about winning Charlie's old wand over (he certainly wasn't planning on letting it snap this time), but for now he figured that he could at least practice the basic spells he knew with it.

Good thing, too, because it looked like his spell work was worse than he remembered.

A simple cast of Wingardium Leviosa, for one thing, sent several books shooting for the ceiling (something the ghoul had not been happy about). Another was that his attempt to transfigure a quill into a bird produced a hideous result of a flopping quill with a bird's head and one wing.

(At least his Reparifarge still worked)

This has to be a joke. Ron gaped at the frayed wand in his hand. I know this wand and I don't work well together, but I don't remember it being this bad! And I'm supposed to survive first year with this thing? Looks like I'm in for more work than I thought…

The boy massaged his temple with his free hand. From what I can tell, the problem is with me either overpowering my spells—like what happened with the levitation charm—or underpowering them—like with my incomplete transfiguration. So in a nutshell, it's about control then? How do I improve my control?

Practice, Weasley. The smartarse voice in his head rebuked. How else?

With that, Ron made changes to his schedule once more. Because he didn't want to risk getting caught doing magic by his family (or worse, Pettigrew) at home, Ron would take the wand with him whenever he'd go for his morning exercise. After a quick work with his privacy charms (making doubly sure that they do work despite his haphazard spellwork), the boy pored at least an hour on practice.

It was bloody murder, he found, since it felt that his core would burn in protest every time he'd try to control his magic. But bit by bit, he was starting to see the difference. When he was able to transfigure a rock successfully into a fish, his confidence in his method grew and he started branching out into more spells.

The effort left him so drained at the end of the day it was all Ron could do to not keel over at the sight of his bed, but the young wizard forced himself through the plans he made: study, do practical magic work, work around the house, spend time with family. It was tiring work, but Ron had never felt this energetic and driven before.

The benefits were becoming more apparent as well. The nightmares were still there, sneaking up on him when he'd least expect it. But because of the amount of work he was putting in, those times became less, and during those times they do catch up with him, he was better able to control his reactions.

There was also the fact that he could say he was in better terms with his family than he had been in the past at eleven. His parents had been pleasantly surprised when he volunteered to help out more, and while Ron can't say that he was close to them the same way they were close to their favorites in the family (Ginny for Molly, Percy and Bill for Arthur), at least they were spending more time together and it was nice to feel their approval of him every now and then.

He was also happy to say that he improved his relationships with his siblings. The tutoring sessions with Percy and the secret flights during the mornings with Ginny helped a lot on that. And dare he say it, he actually managed to earn the twins' respect when, during one of those times when Ron was actually allowed to hang with the twins, an off-handed remark brought about his nostalgia over the skiving snackboxes made Fred and George look at him in awe.

Fred whistled from the desk in the middle of the room. "It appears we are mistaken about you, little brother, wouldn't you say so, Forge?"

"A right brilliant mind of a prankster in the making, indeed, dear Gred."  From Ron's right, George nodded.  "We feared for a while that you would be a lost cause, Ronniekins."

"Lost what?" Ron shook his head at the twins. "Anyway, if you think it's such a good idea, you could start working on test products. I can see it selling well with Hogwarts students."

"And a budding businessman too!" Fred chortled. "Have any more secrets you're holding out on us, Ronnie?"

Loads more than I'll ever want to share. "For the fainting sweets I mentioned, maybe you can make something out flobberworm mucus and a bit of lavender? They're used in sleeping draughts, right?"

George hummed thoughtfully. "You may be onto something there."

"And they're first year level ingredients, so getting them won't be too difficult." Fred agreed.

"Well let me know how that turns out," Ron got up from his seat on George's bed. "I'm heading to Percy's now."

"What? Come on, you'd rather hang with the boring Prefect—"

"—than with your dashingly good looking and amazingly wicked older brothers?"

Ron snickered. "Wouldn't want to get in the way of your next big discovery, would I? Just send me the first batch as soon as they're out. Who better be your first victi—err, taste tester of your new products than your favorite little brother, am I right?"

Ron quickly slipped out of the twins' room before either of them could say another word.

Surprisingly, the teasing and pranks on Ron went down dramatically after that, though the boy still noted that same can't be said for Percy. Ron thought it was still part of the twins teasing Percy on becoming a prefect, but Ginny once noted that the pranks started going up when Ron began spending more time with the Fifth year Weasley on tutoring sessions.

(Which is utter nonsense, if you ask him.)

Other than all that, life was fairly comfortable for Ronald Weasley for a good amount of time. He was able to finish reading up on most of first year material and his spellwork was finally becoming more manageable, he was in good terms with his family. He even managed to exchange mails with Bill and Charlie (again, something he hadn't done in the past).

But as the end of August drew closer, a sense of trepidation began blooming in his chest, even though he appeared looking relaxed and content on his bed, wand in one hand, his deluminator on the other hidden under his pillow.

Because in a few days' time, his reliving of his Hogwarts first year life was about to begin. Soon, he was going to see Harry and Hermione again.

As it was in the past, there wasn't a need for his family to go to Diagon Alley, since Ron got all his things for his first year from hand me downs from all his older brothers. So it had been easy for him to be so absorbed in the routine he established for himself that it took a reminder from his mum that September 1 was almost upon him.

Since then, the knowledge of it kept Ron sweaty with anxiety.

Bloody hell, this is it. The start of the rest of my second life. He tightened his grip on his deluminator. All this work, this planning, was all for this. But am I ready for it? Do I have what it takes to not screw this up?

His hand on the metal object suddenly felt curiously warm, making Ron pull his hand out into view.

The phoenix emblem on the deluminator was glowing, as if encouraging him.

How odd, but Ron found it surprisingly reassuring.

As if It was actually doing so from afar.

"OK, It, I'm still worried about what's coming for me from here on out. You did say that this world isn't entirely the same as my old one, and I have a feeling that it's in Hogwarts that I'll start to get exactly why. But…" His thumb brushed against the etching glowing a soft yellow.

Voldemort. Quirrel. The Stone. Hermione. Harry.

"First year at Hogwarts, here I come."

Notes:

The canon concept of the Trace is still not clear and there are several theories out there on how it works, when was it applied, why doesn't it work when the wizard becomes of age, etc. But since there is no solid system on it, I went with my own interpretation of the Trace's inner workings, making it another one up purebloods have over half-bloods and muggleborns. Real life is full of unfair advantages like that.

The tale of the bloody irony of Ron getting attention when he no longer looks for it (or even wants it) is about to begin. :D

Oh and also Ron's first year second life. Wonder how that's gonna go for him this time...

Many thanks to everyone who left their reviews and comments on this fanfic as well as those who followed and made it one of their favorites. Comments/suggestions/clarifications/corrections are always welcome.

And thank you again for reading this far. See you all in the next installment and the start of Ron's Year One at Hogwarts journey!

UP NEXT:

Ron on his first train ride to Hogwarts this second life. How will his first meeting with Harry and Hermione go this time? Will he still be the first friend Harry makes? Or will this trip be a quiet, uneventful interlude? But with Ronald Weasley front and center, that's not bloody likely.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three:

Hogwarts Express, Again

"Anyone sitting there?" A gangling red head pushed the sliding door open shyly. "Everywhere else is full."

"Are all your family wizards?" Two new First Years eager to know more about each other. "I heard you live with Muggles. What were they like?"

"You're going to love Hogwarts!" The red head said confidently. "My brothers don't agree on a lot of things, but they all said that it's like a home away from home!"

A shadow crossed the pale face that had been once too innocent for the world. "That's fine. I…The Dursleys weren't exactly home material anyway."

"You reckon we'll be in the same house?"

"Even if we weren't, we'll…still be friends, right?"

The red head shrugged carelessly. "Sure, unless you end up in Slytherin. But there's no way that's gonna happen."

"You think that all of this is just about you." The two friends, sixteen years later, in a time of war. "But you're wrong. So don't walk away as if this whole fight with You-Know-Who is something you have to do alone, Harry!"

"Ron…" Jaded green eyes melted into a emeralds of regret and longing. "I'm sorry."

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Ron slumped against the train seat with a long, tired, frustrated sigh, the stirrings of the need to hex something swirling relentlessly in his gut.

Today was 1st of September, the first day of the rest of his new life back in time. It was the day of the start of him proving that Death did not give this second chance to the wrong person.

So naturally, the day started with a disastrous bang.

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY, IF YOU DO NOT COME DOWNSTAIRS THIS VERY INSTANT, YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO SET FOOT ON HOGWARTS EVER AGAIN!"

Ron buried his head in his hands with a groan, remembering exactly how his whole morning got shot into hell.

Maybe it was because of his restlessness that the nightmares came back with a vengeance on the last week of August, and his latest one caused him to oversleep so bad that if it weren't for Molly shouting loud enough to shake the house to its very foundation, Ron would have slept in all morning.

And things continued to go downhill from there.

As if running late was bad enough, Ron just had to forget to pack a few things and had to remember them every several meters away from the Burrow. Even his normally mild-mannered father was becoming visibly irritated by it ("This is the third time, Ron!"), but there was no way Ron was leaving his dubbed Second Chance notebook or Scabbers, among other things, at home.

The return trips caused the Weasley family to arrive at the nick of time in King's Cross. Ron had been even more frantic then, because this was where he was supposed to meet Harry for the first time and Ron just had to screw it up by being near late. He tried looking around for the boy, worried that his old friend was still standing lost and unaware of how to enter Platform 9 ¾.

But Molly was not going to have any more of Ron delaying everyone else. Ron now knew that you can be bodily pushed into 9 ¾ thanks to a very irate mother.

And even worse, I still didn't manage to find Harry! The freckled youth's sigh of despair filled his empty train compartment. Even after I snuck off the train and back at the platform, there was no sign of him! Wow, Weasley, it hasn't even been a day in your first year do-over, and you're already screwing everything up!

Ron paused the train of thought when another memory entered his mind that made him smile a bit.

Well, not everything.

Ginny noticed how anxious Ron had been all morning. Not wanting to worry her (and not knowing where to even begin explaining), Ron simply said it was a case of nerves, being his first day of first year. The way Ginny's brown eyes dimmed at the reminder that all of her brothers will be leaving for Hogwarts made the boy's chest constrict. How could he have missed how lonely Ginny must have felt when at this time when she wore her heart on her sleeve? And her self-absorbed immediate older brother didn't help make things better the first time around too…

Not this time, however.

"It'll be OK, Gin-Gin. I promise I'll be writing to you at least once a week. That way, it'll be like I never left!"

"R—Really? You'd do that, Ron?"

"Hey, you might become so sick of my letters, you'll end up sending me a Howler to tell me to stop being a nag!"

Of all the answers Ginny could have come up, Ron did not expect being hugged tightly in his middle.

"You better keep your promise, Ron! Or I'll keep sending you Howlers until you do!"

Ron pat the ginger girl's head fondly. "'Course, Ginny. I'll even pinky swear you on it?"

Ginny blushed and swatted his arm. "Prat!"

"There's my little spitfire!"

At least one thing's gone well today. Ron noted before pulling himself up to rummage his pack for a sandwich. And it's not like things are completely hopeless. I'll just figure a way to find Harry before the Feast. I wonder who he's sitting with this time, though…

SLIDE!

Ron distractedly looked up from his pack (still unable to find a sandwich) when his blue eyes met a pair of surprised green ones.

"O—Oh, sorry, I—I didn't think—" The boy at the door scratched his dark hair unsurely. "I didn't think anyone else was here. I didn't mean to intrude."

The red head wizard kicked his brain back on. "No, it's OK. It's not like I have someone around with me anyway."

"Oh, err…" The other boy hesitated before looking up again. "Is it OK if I sat with you then? Everywhere else is full."

It must be laughing Its head off right about now…

"Sure go ahead, err…" Ron stood up and held his hand out. "I'm Ron, by the way. Ronald Weasley."

Another hand shook it gingerly. "And I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

Ron could hardly believe his luck though.

No way could he have expected that instead of him finding Harry's compartment, it was Harry who found him instead. Though, truth be told, the first time around, Ron had scoured the whole train in search for the famous Harry Potter when the twins claimed to have met him, just to see if his brothers weren't pulling his leg again. The "everywhere else is full" excuse was a flimsy one, because the Hogwarts Express was charmed to be roomy enough to accommodate all the students and then some extra passengers.

The boy wondered why Harry used that excuse this time, but figured he shouldn't question his good fortune.

After the initial air of awkwardness had passed, Ron and Harry fell back into the familiar getting to know you phase they had in the past. As it turns out, Harry did arrive at the train earlier than Ron did, having seen a few students enter the barrier and following after. Harry had asked about Ron's family of wizards, and Ron asked about the muggles. Though this time, instead of dwelling on the Dursleys, Ron asked about how muggles were in general, like how they lived without magic and asking about the inventions he heard his father mention.

("So it's not a fellytone but a telly?"

"No, it's telephone. The telly is an entirely different thing."

"Huh? Sounds the same to me!"

"The telephone is what you use to contact another place that has one. Telly is for television, the one that displays motion pictures and shows."

"Oh, like Wizard photographs, right?"

"Wizard photographs move?"

"Obviously! You don't expect them to just stand all day, do you?")

Harry had visibly relaxed enough in Ron's presence to be the carefree and eagerly curious boy the eighteen-turned-eleven-year-old remembered. It made Ron nostalgic. Harry had been so innocent back then, during those early years where the Wizarding World had been just one big, amazing adventure for him.

But then Voldemort had to ruin everything, just like how he taken Harry's parents and chance for a happy childhood away.

"…about Houses?" Ron's attention was drawn back at the questioning tone in Harry voice.

"Err, sorry?"

"I heard a few students talk about the Houses at Hogwarts. Hagrid's told me a bit about them and I was wondering what you think." Harry repeated after a bite of his Cauldron cake before handing Ron a box. "Chocolate Frog?"

"Thanks." Ron put the sweet aside however in favor of his sandwich. It was corned beef, again. Molly could never seem to remember that Ron hates the stuff with a vengeance. But Ron loved his Mum more, so, "Right, the Houses. You already know about the four Houses?"

"Yeah. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and…" Harry's eyes darkened a bit. "Slytherin."

Now in the past, Ron would have strongly supported Harry's negative impression of Slytherin. He was raised under the same views after all, and Slytherin's reputation of producing Death Eaters and bullies certainly didn't help earn them positive points.

But Pettigrew was a cowardly excuse for a Death Eater, and he was a Gryffindor, wasn't he? And Snape, while ambitious, cunning and a bitter bully, had fought against Voldemort despite being Slytherin.

When you think about it, Ron once realized, you can't really blame the snakes for turning Dark, not when everyone else expects them to. Back then, I thought they were a bunch of bullies who take fun out of making others' lives a living hell. In hindsight, most of them are just a bunch of prissy pansies.

"My family's been in Gryffindor for generations. It's the house of the brave, though some say it's also for the reckless. Ravenclaw's the house of the smart ones. Hufflepuffs are for the nice ones who are all about loyalty and friendship stuff. While the Slytherins are for the ambitious and cunning ones, but lately it's also gotten a reputation of being the house of dark wizards."

"Hagrid said that it was the house Voldemort came from."

"But it was also the house of Merlin, the greatest Wizard who ever lived." At Harry's wide eyes with wonder, Ron smiled. "Yeah, the Houses come with their own reputation, but it's not always true. Not all Slytherins turn into dark wizards, not all Gryffindors are brave," The ginger haired boy stopped the urge to glare at the fat Scabbers sleeping in his cage. "Not all Ravenclaws are smart at the things that matter, and Hufflepuffs are not just the leftovers who don't fit in the other three houses."

"The Sorting Hat…" Harry once told him painstakingly. "Wanted to put in me Slytherin before. It was only because I asked it not to that I was put in Gryffindor…"

"I think all of us have a bit of each of the Houses just waiting to come out. We just get sorted based on what's the most obvious at the moment."

The green-eyed boy blinked. "So, which House do you want?"

"Me? Definitely Gryffindor!" Ron said with no small amount of pride. "My brothers are there, and while they can be a pain, I'd rather not be alone in Hogwarts."

"…That must be nice," mumbled Harry.

Seeing the beginning signs of Harry clamming up again, Ron spoke. "Oi, don't look so down! If you ask me, I think you're gonna make a good Gryffindor!"

At his friend's mystified expression, Ron continued. "Just call it a gut feeling, and I heard my Mum and Dad say before that your parents used to be in Gryffindor too so it's in your blood!"

"R—Really?" It was, for the lack of a better word, cute to see Harry's face light up at the mention of his parents.

"And you don't have to worry about being alone. Even if you end up in a different house, I'll still be your friend. I mean, we are friends now, aren't we?"

Harry nodded vigorously. "Of course."

Ron was about to say something more, but then the compartment door slid open again.

And just Ron's luck, it just happened to be Malfoy.

"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort—"

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."

The childlike part of Ron couldn't help but gloat in glee at the way Malfoy's face turned pink at Harry's declaration back in the train. He knew it was immature of him, but seeing Malfoy put in his place was a treat he always enjoyed. Can anyone blame him, though? The ferret has been a pain in his and his friends' side for years! Always going on about his father this and his father that, and being an all-around pureblood arsehole.

It was partly Malfoy's fault—along with his cronies Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson—that Ron had been distrustful bordering to hateful of all Slytherins. But after going back in time, during one of his vacant moments, Ron came to realize that the only Slytherins who gave him and his friends a hard time were Malfoy's little pack (and occasionally, Flint). Most of them, while not exactly friendly, tended to stay out the Gryffindors' way.

If he had taken the time to interact with some of the Snakes—and with the other houses in general—would it have helped them gain more allies in the past? Would it have even helped stop some of the Slytherins from becoming Death Eaters because they didn't think they had any other choice?

I did tell Harry that not all Slytherins are dark wizards. Ron thought to himself. Maybe I should take a bit of my own advice. And not jump into a chance to fight with Malfoy every time.

So instead of reacting to Malfoy's pompous introduction of himself, Ron kept his face carefully blank, even when Malfoy began throwing insults around.

"Red hair, freckles, hand-me-downs for the children they cannot really afford. You're obviously a Weasley, aren't you?"

"You're rather famous yourself, Malfoy. Girly face, fancy hair, preppy clothes, can't walk two feet without your baby sitters pampering you to shape. Hope dumb and dumber know how to take care of mummy's ickle baby boy. Wouldn't want them to make daddy angry, eh?"

What a difference it made, Ron found out, when it was Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle who would rise to the bait instead of the other way around. Crabbe made a move to charge, but Ron cast a silent tripping jinx at the miniature hulk who careened to the floor along with the other two future Slytherins.

While Ron and Harry had gotten a good laugh at the way Malfoy spluttered and struggled to make a graceful exit after his embarrassing fall, the blue eyed wizard became concerned as well, because he was certain that he cast the tripping jinx only at Crabbe. Harry may have dismissed it as a coincidence, but to Ron it looked like he overpowered the jinx again.

Damn, and I thought I already fixed that problem. Stupid unicorn tail wand not even trying to work with me!

But at least he hadn't made a fool of himself with Hermione this time. Ron felt his breath catch at the memory of seeing his old love so young again.

"Have you seen a toad?" Hermione had asked when she first entered their compartment. "A boy named Neville's lost one."

It took all of Ron's willpower to not jump and hug the wits out of the bushy haired girl. He had barely managed to himself back when he saw Harry again, but seeing Hermione again, and so close…

It was the fact that she appeared eleven again—way too young to be thinking of anything romance related—and the fact that he is a complete stranger at her that helped Ron to still his feet. He had a second chance to be with his friends again, and he was not going to screw it up by being weird.

"Err, no sorry, but maybe you can ask one of the Prefects for help?" Ron answered instead. "The Prefect compartment is just down the next car, the first door to the right. My brother, Percy, is the Gryffindor Prefect. I'm sure he'll be glad to."

"Oh, thank you for that. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your names?"

"Ronald Weasley." They shook hands, and Harry followed suit. "Harry Potter."

At that, Hermione's eyes widened. "Are you really? I know all about you, of course! From my extra books for background reading!" And then, in typical Hermione fashion, she went on about the books that had Harry in it, leaving Harry in a daze as the girl went on and on. It might have sounded bossy and a bit condescending to anyone, but Ron knew that spouting knowledge was a way Hermione used to cope with nervousness.

Seeing that she was extra talkative, she must be really nervous. Ron mused. Still, Harry was looking a little flustered throughout her talk, so he had to step in.

"Err, sorry, Hermione, we're almost at the school now, I reckon, and we got to change soon."

"Right, of course. I better get going. Thanks again for your help, Ronald."

"Just Ron, Hermione. I'll be seeing you in the Feast!"

Ron was glad that he left a better impression on Hermione this time, though their brief meeting left Harry feeling more anxious.

"You heard her, Ron! Even if she's just a first year, she already knows so much! She even had all our subjects memorized!" The bespectacled boy moaned. "I'll really be the worst student in our year!"

"Don't be silly! There'll be loads of us who'll be in the same boat as you!"

"But it looked like you knew what she was talking about!"

"Five older brothers, remember? But just because I know a bit more doesn't mean I'll be any better than you." Ron laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "And besides, we'll be helping each other catch up to speed. We'll be fine."

Harry had smiled gratefully before pulling his robe over his head.

The sandwiches have all been finished up, the last of the sweets pocketed away, and the boys changed into their robes by the time Hogwarts Express pulled over. Everything more or less happened the same way as it had again. Ron only needed to pay half-attention as he went through the ministrations, from arriving at the platform under the cold night, to seeing Hagrid again and to the boat ride across the lake. Harry, Hermione and Neville, who rode the boat with him, all had looks of awe as they saw the castle for the first time. Ron, on the other hand, had a look that was a cross between nostalgia and determination.

The last time he had seen his beautiful second home, it had been ravaged by fire and smoke, warn torn and littered by bodies, desecrated by Voldemort's taint and greed. It was surreal to see it whole once more.

The eighteen-turned-eleven year old prayed that he can keep it that way for as long as he can.

The four exited along with the others into a tunnel that will lead them up to the entrance to the Great Hall were Professor McGonagall was waiting for them. Ron felt Harry stiffen in attention at the severe looking woman, but years of knowing her made Ron smile affectionately.

Behind the stern and rightfully strict exterior she exhibited, his old Transfiguration professor was a compassionate person at heart, with a soft spot for her lions (although that may not always be obvious). Of all the professors he had, McGonagall was the one he missed the most.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," began McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet is about to begin. But before you can take your seats, you will be sorted into your houses. The houses will be something akin to your family while you are here in Hogwarts. The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house…"

Ron tuned out the rest of the introduction in favor of observing the other first years. Some, like Neville, appeared more nervous than others. Hermione was whispering furiously, going over all the spells she knew (the whole first year repertoire, Ron reckoned), while Malfoy had his nose up in the air, sniffing disdainfully at being around so many people.

From next to him, Harry's face lost color again. "How exactly do they sort us into houses?"

"Just some sort of test. Fred once said it hurts a lot." At the sight of Harry close to hyperventilating, Ron added. "I'm kidding, Harry, and so was Fred. I'm sure it's nothing too hard. They wouldn't do that to a first year!"

Harry sighed. "I hope you're right."

Poor Harry must be really worried about being sent back. It was a fear that Ron saw time and again during their earlier years at Hogwarts. How simple things were back then. But before he could try to reassure Harry again, the Fat Friar and the other ghosts showed up, effectively distracting everyone until McGonagall came back for them.

Oh well, shrugged Ron. Harry's nerves will relax once he sees it's just the Sorting Hat.

The…Sorting Hat…

Dread fell upon the red head then like a ton of bricks even as his feet moved on autopilot. The two lines of First years entered the Great Hall, with its magnificent ceiling of stars and candles, stone arches that hummed with power and rows of older students looking expectantly at them. And in front of them, ready to break out into its annual song, was the frayed Sorting Hat.

The Sorting Hat. He had to put on the Sorting Hat. The Hat that had the essences of the Founders. The Hat that could read minds to decide which House to put you in.

The Hat that could easily see into his mind that he was a time traveler.

So while the rest of the First years had relaxed and even smiled in amusement when the Sorting Hat continued its song, Ron nerves were absolutely shot. Because how the hell was he going to get past this one?

"Bulstrode, Milicent!"

What?! Ron hitched a breath, eyes wild on the sorting stool where Bulstrode sat with the Sorting Hat on her head. Since when did the Hat finish its song? Since when had the Sorting ceremony began?

"SLYTHERIN!"

Ron felt his stomach grumble. I think I'm going to be sick…

"Flinch-Fletchley, Justin!"

The Sorting Hat looks into memories, and Ron doesn't have a single Occlumency barrier to his name to stop the thing from looking too deep into his mind!

"Greengrass, Daphne!"

Shite, he should have thought about studying up Occlumency. But it's not like there were books on the subject in the Burrow. He wasn't even sure if Percy or his parents knew about it! And what was he supposed to say if asked about where he heard about Occlumency? It wasn't a well-known branch of magic, much less by a first year!

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Can the Sorting Hat even tell someone of what it has seen in another's head? Is that even right? What if the Hat told Dumbledore the truth about Ron? What would happen to him? What would happen to all the plans he had been making so far? What would happen to Harry—?

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Ron's gaze was back on the stool again, where Harry had gotten off, looking like a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The Gryffindor table was alive with cheerful pandemonium, with Fred and George cheering above the others, "WE GOT POTTER! WE GOT POTTER!"

Funny, Ron didn't remember the twins being that happy that he made it to Gryffindor.

Ron squelched the bitterness with the full force of his anxiety. Not. Now!

"Thomas, Dean!"

Oh shit it was almost his turn! His palms were sweating cold. Merlin, help me.

"Turpin, Lisa!"

What do I do?! His legs felt like jelly and his vision murky. What do I do? Damn it, Death, what do I—?!

"Weasley, Ronald!"

All eyes were on him now, and the Hat appeared to be looking expectantly at him.

Oh. Fuck. Me!

Yay, Ron met Harry and Hermione again! And I managed to reach the part with the Sorting. Double yay!

Oh Ronnie, only one day and you've already changed several things. I'm so proud!

How's the sorting ceremony going to be for Ron this time, what will his head full of secrets? The Hat's going to have a grand time with him, that's for sure!

I'll say it again: thank God for sem breaks! Though it might be a while before I post something new again. But I've got the rest of first year all planned out, so no worries. (Hopefully)

Expect more canon divergences from here on, from the friends Ron makes in his new First year, to a few school activities. I had fun coming up with them, so I hope you guys will enjoy what I have in store.

Thanks again so much for all the support you have all shown me so far. Feel free to alert me regarding any mistakes. I've done my best to be as accurate as possible but since this is unbeta-ed, something might slip. I'll be coming back to edit the chapters once I have more time.

UP NEXT:
It's Ron's turn to wear the Hat! What will the Sorting Hat find in Ron's head, and how will it affect his Sorting? Will Ron remain a Lion? Or will his older, wiser self lead him somewhere else?

Chapter Text

Happy New Year!

What better way to start 2020 than to churn out overdue updates?

This was supposed to go live last December, but near the end of it, my dad became critically ill and it tossed everything into disarray. Luckily, thankfully, he's doing better now and is making a steady recovery. I should consider myself fortunate. Not all stroke victims get second chances like his.

That said, enjoy the chapter.

Chapter Four:

The Second Sorting

"Ho ho, what do we have here? Another Weasley?"

The split-second quiet of earth colored darkness, broken by the round, throaty tone of an old, jovial man. It would have been nice, if it didn't start with a line that really sets him off.

"Oh come now, I don't mean anything by it! You really need to work on those insecurities. They won't do you any good!"

What would you know? He snapped in his head. How would you know what it's like to have six siblings? You're just a bloody old hat!

"My, and such fiery temper! But mind you, I did not have centuries of experience going into students' heads and not picking up a thing or a hundred. Trust me when I say that unlike what you so believe, there IS something special about you. Mr. Potter chose you over Mr. Malfoy, didn't he?"

He felt his ears burn up then. That time in the train felt like ages ago yet he still couldn't believe it—him, being friends with the Harry Potter? It was like something straight out of a fantasy, almost too good to be true, on top of Harry being actually a decent bloke.

"And so are you, Mr. Weasley, even if you are still unable to fully understand the fact. Hot tempered and stubborn you may be, but there is a good amount of bravery in you. Loyalty as well. Trying times will be coming for Mr. Potter, and he will need a friend like you to stand by him when they come."

…Really?

"Now off you go to where Mr. Potter and your friends are waiting for you in…"

"Well this is certainly a surprise!"

The Sorting Hat boomed into Ron's ears after the red head managed to force his wobbly legs to get to the damn stool without fainting in front of the entire Great Hall. But with the way his throat was still coming into knots with the taste of bile and corned beef clawing up to it, Ron knew he wasn't safe from the risk of embarrassing himself just yet.

Yeah, yeah, another Weasley. Bloody brilliant, isn't it? Now can you just sort me into Gryffindor and not look too deep into—

"Too late, Mr. Weasley." The Hat cut in cheerfully, sending an iceberg into Ron's bottomless pit in the process. "I have sorted hundreds of students before, but I have never had the privilege of engaging the mind of a time traveler. Let alone someone who has bested Death Itself!"

Ron swallowed hard against the brown void drowning his vision. …You already got that much? That fast?!

"I have been a Legilimens for centuries, Mr. Weasley. And if I was going to finish sorting through the lot of you under an hour, I ought to be fast! But this moment is not about me." The Hat then tutted. "My, my, what do I do with you? I have never met such a peculiar student before. And here I thought Mr. Potter will be the only difficult sorting for the year…"

What's so hard about me? The time traveler snapped. You saw my memories, didn't you? Saw that I'm still that same hot-tempered, back talking idiot—?

"Oh, hardly!" Said the Hat. "You still have a temper, true, along with that stubborn streak and your needless insecurities, but you are far from that boy my other self met in the past! You would not have defeated Death and won Its respect if you were!"

Won Its respect? I barely managed to scrape a win because I became too dramatic. No wonder Snape got pissed! I was a fucking whiner!

"But you fought back, despite falling apart. You persevered." Came the soft reply. "As it was during your journey with Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger. You may have lost your way, but all that matters is that you came back."

The memories of his desertion of Harry and Hermione because of that blasted locket made Ron's eyes burn. Even until now, the guilt, hurt and shame from that mistake still felt like a fresh gaping wound over his chest. Despite his friends forgiving him, perhaps it is a wound that will never truly heal or let him forget…

"Time, Mr. Weasley. It heals all wounds, enough to make them bearable to live with. You have much of that now, in this second life you have rightfully won from Death. Use it to your fullest advantage, and I will guide you to the House that will help you best."

I already have a House!

"But is it what is best for you now? As I have said, you are not that same eleven-year-old who wore me for the first time. Some of the potential I have seen in you before has been brought to the surface: Wisdom. Perception. Loyalty. Humility. Even a bit of ambition."

Ron's grip on the stool tightened. Around him, the sound of whispers began to seep into the brown void. You—you can't be thinking of sorting me into—

"Slytherin? My dear boy, surely you do not think so badly of them now, do you?"

W—Well, no. I mean, looking back, the only snakes who were really at it against us were Malfoy and his goons.

"You desire to correct your mistakes in the past. You wish to save those who have fallen too soon. You have already made your initial plans, but other than knowledge and skill, you will need connections. Connections that the Slytherins can help you create."

And I can't make those connections in a different house? Why not Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff? From what you said about me, you can pretty much put me in whatever House you want just because!

Much to Ron's surprise, the Hat actually laughed. "Fascinating indeed! It is not every decade that I encounter a student on the way to understanding the magnum opus that is the Sorting!"

…Magna what?

"But while you possess the potential of intelligence for a Ravenclaw, your rebellious, independent-minded nature will make it hard for you to fit in with your peers there. And while you have the loyalty worthy of Hufflepuff, your passion may be too strong a fire for them."

The whispers were becoming louder against a silence in his head becoming more pronounced. But somewhere in his chest, there was a spark.

Ron's blue eyes hardened. …Make me a Gryffindor.

"Mr. Weasley..."

You thought Harry would be better in Slytherin, didn't you? But he asked you not to, and you listened to him. So you'll have to listen to me too. Ron began. I get that you mean well, and know loads more than I probably ever will, but you can't put me in another House. Even if I get why it's best for me. You made the decision for me the second you sent Harry to Gryffindor.

"Had Mr. Potter gone to Slytherin—"

Then I would have made you send me to Slytherin, because I promised Harry. Two of the worst mistakes of my life were abandoning him on the two times he needed me most, but there won't be a third. The flicker within him burst into a blaze, sending through him a surge of confidence he didn't know he could possess. And there's no better place for me to do just that than to be in the same bloody House!

"…Every bit as stubborn and loyal as your Founder!"

Ron nearly jumped out of his seat when the Sorting Hat's voice boomed over his head, making the whispers grow into something akin to furiously buzzing bees.

OI! What the hell do you think you're doing?!

"You and Mr. Potter are such an interesting pair! I still believe both of you would have done well in Slytherin, but your bravery and loyalty, Mr. Weasley, your burning devotion to your brother in all but blood. They stand above all that is within you, and it is to where it calls home that I shall be sending you."

The boy's heart leapt. Does that mean…?

"Though some parting advice, if you care: your quest is a long and arduous, but one that you need not take alone. You can find the help you will need here in Hogwarts. You only need to ask. Also, worry not, your time travelling secret is safe with me.

Really? You—you're not telling Dumbledore?

"It is a secret that I will be taking to my grave. And if you need further advice, you know where to find me." The Hat assured him. "Now go, to where perhaps you have always belonged, to…

...Years after my first Sorting, the Hat can still pull a fast on me!

Despite his words though, Ron lay on his bed that night with a smile on his face.

The darn thing may have nearly given him a heart attack, thinking of sorting him to anywhere but Gryffindor. He may not mind the other Houses as much as he used to, but at his heart, Ronald Bilius Weasley has and will always be a Gryffindor through and through.

Not that the Sorting Hat doesn't have a point. Ron mused. I mean, really, now that I think about, isn't it possible to have a bit of the Houses in them? Hermione once said that since the Sorting Hat's got the essences of the founders, it sends the students to the Houses the way the Founders would have picked students for theirs. Gryffindor for the brave. Ravenclaw for the smart. Slytherin for the ambitious. Hufflepuff for the loyal.

But if it were really as easy as seeing which part of a student stands out best then sending them to the right House based on that, there wouldn't be Hatstalls, would there? Ron came to conclude. Like what mine nearly was!

Ron hadn't realized it at the time, but his sorting was a few seconds from four minutes long, which was what made everyone whisper about so anxiously. It had made even Dumbledore look at him with such interest that the redhead had to remind himself to not meet those twinkly blue eyes.

Instead, Ron focused on taking that seat next to Harry while drowning himself in the loud cheers of his housemates.

"Way to start your first year, little brother!" Fred immediately clapped him on the back as soon as Ron sat down between him and Harry.

"Just had to go and steal the show, eh?" Added George. "Imagine, our little Ronniekins, the first near Hatstall the Weasleys ever had in generations!"

"Hey, it's not my fault the Hat couldn't figure where to bloody put me right." Ron said with a shrug. "I told him I wanted to be a Gryffidnor, but it nearly wanted to put me somewhere else. The thing's gone senile!"

"But still you managed to get into Gryffindor," said Percy from across the table and next to Hermione. "I have to say I was worried for a while there, but of course, I remained confident that you would make it."

Sure you were.  Still, Percy's display of concern made Ron smile. "As if I was going to let it Sort me somewhere else, Perce!"

"You nearly didn't get sorted into Gryffindor?" Harry whispered, making Ron pause thoughtfully before nodding.

"Yeah, weird, isn't it? All Weasleys have been Gryffindors for ages, well usually. Wouldn't want to do anything to change that." Ron gave a quick glance to the twins and Percy who had their attention drawn back to the last student to be sorted. ("Zabinin, Blaise!")

"Just between you and me, Harry? The bloody thing wanted to sort me to Slytherin! Slytherin! Not like I've got a problem with, err, most of them, but can you imagine what a mickey Fred and George will take out on me when they find out?"

Harry's green eyes were glowing with wonder and something else Ron couldn't tell at the moment, but it made the redhead think that he made the right choice. If there was one good thing about this unusually long sorting of his, it was that it gave him something else in common with Harry. Maybe that will help his old friend feel less alone this time, Ron hoped.

But before Harry could respond, Ron heard the student body chorus in thanks to their Headmaster, and the Weasley knew immediately what was to come next.

"Potatoes, Harry?"

Ron had freely laughed out loud at the way Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight of all that food on their table, much so that the other boy had to smack him on the head to shut him up.

He hadn't known until then how much he missed that innocently easy to surprise side of his best friend. Not to mention the food at Hogwarts too! His mum's cooking was still the best in Ron's opinion, but the Hogwarts house elves' cooking came close second.

Speaking of that lot, I should probably drop by the kitchens sometime soon. I still remember how to tickle that pear, I think. Ron's smile then dropped to a more pensive expression. And then there are those other places too.

It amazed him how much he could still remember after going back through time. So far, he hadn't experienced any holes in his memories, and was able to remember whatever he needed to recall about something at any given moment.

Or maybe it's just that I haven't encountered something I don't remember yet. Ron shook his head. I'll just deal with that as I go along. What matters for now is that I still know how to get into the kitchens, the Room of Requirement, that one-eyed witch passage and the Chamber of Secrets. Not that I'm going to go in there anytime soon, but it's nice to know that I can.

Thinking of the Chamber made Ron think about Ginny, though, and it made his insides clench hard. I'm not going to let Voldemort use you again, Ginny. I don't care if it's too big of a change in this timeline, but I'm not letting it happen. I'm not gonna fail as your big brother, not this time—

"AH!"

—Harry?

Ron sat up from his bed, shooting out of the curtains of his four-poster bed to Harry's right next to his. A quick draw of the thick red sheets revealed Harry sitting up with glazed eyes and a heavily breathing frame.

"Harry?" Ron said slowly, his years of dealing with Harry's nightmares coming to the surface as he knelt to Harry's eye level. "Harry, you up, mate?"

"R-Ron?" Nope, Harry's eyes still looked glazed, but at least the black-haired boy acknowledged him somehow.

"Yeah, it's me." Ron paused for a bit. "Bad dream?"

Harry nodded slowly. "There was screaming...loads of green light...that voice, like...a hissing snake...mum and dad...dead…"

Ron bit his lip to gather his calm before speaking again. "Hey, it's OK. It was just a dream. You're at Hogwarts, Harry. You're safe."

"Hogwarts…?"

The deluminator in his pocket warmed up.

"Right, Hogwarts." Ron repeated. "The safest place in the world. He's not coming for you here. I won't let him. You'll be safe here." He then gently pushed his friend back down the bed. "Now get some sleep in, you. We still got an early morning tomorrow."

The confused Harry could only nod dazedly before slipping back into the covers. But even as he closed his eyes, his mumbling did not stop. "A man...silver...two heads...green light...mum…"

Ron didn't say anything else, however. He just watched, steady by Harry's bedside until the other boy's breathing evened out and the whispering died on its own. Only then did Ron loosen his crouched position to a cross legged seat, his back on his own bedpost.

So Harry's already having nightmares ever since he started Hogwarts? I thought they all began after that disaster in the Forbidden Forest with the unicorns…The eighteen-turned-eleven year old shook his head. No point in dwelling on that. Don't worry, Harry, I'm not letting that son of a bitch get to you or anyone else. Not if I can help it. I'll make things right this time. I swear it on my life.

Ron's gaze went from his best friend to a certain fat rat snoozing carelessly in its cage. His blue eyes hardened. His deluminator remained warm in his pocket.

Starting with him.

Somewhere in a vast dark woodland, a pair of feet rustled against the leaves.

A lone phantom tore through the expanse of wood, leaves and brush in a frantic run. There was no sound from behind, but it was only a matter of time until they catch up to him.

He cannot return to that prison again. He'd rather slit his own throat.

But to where should he go? Where was he even?

Where…?

"Hogwarts."

The sudden voice in his head nearly made him stop. He drove a foot hard to the ground to send him bursting through a blocking shrub instead.

Who was that? He thought, frantically expanding his senses. He was certain no one else was here. No one had to be. He had staked his life on that absolute-

"Right, Hogwarts. The safest place in the world."

There it was again. That voice. But unlike the kind he used to hear, it was young. Soft but strong. Kind. Gentle.

Against his better judgment, reassuring.

Hogwarts, was it? He thought. He had never heard of such a place before. A safe place then? Could he trust what he had just heard? Was that voice even real?

"He's not coming for you here. I won't let him."

A bang. A flash of red from his periphery.

Gods above, no!

He propelled himself forward, making a mad dash for the nearest tree he could find.

Barely dodging another blast of red light, he scampered to a branch, going higher and higher. Not daring to look down, not daring to think about where his instincts are leading him.

"Hogwarts."

North, his gut told him, and when he turned, his face was bathed by the hovering moon.

Another loud bang behind him, the whooshing of brooms in flight. They were getting closer.

There was no time to second guess.

Jump.

"Hogwarts. The safest place in the world."

From a tall pine in the forest, a small figure leapt forward, into a dazzling light.

A roar of thunder.

"You'll be safe here."

Yay! Gryffindor

So grateful to everyone who followed/favorited this story. Even more thanks to those who left reviews. I'm sorry if I can't reply to everyone yet, but I promise to once I got the time. You guys have been looking forward to Ron's sorting so I hope I did it justice. And oh, Ron's doing the eye thing on Scabbers again. Does he have a plan?

Why, yes Second Chance notebook, thank you for not answering.

And as for who that person is at the end…

(…You won't mind an OC, would you? :sweatdrop:)

Let's just say he'll be a big help for Ron in the future. A bit farther into the future. Like chapters away.

What do you guys think? Do leave any comments/suggestions/corrections. I do backreads from time to time and edit them as necessary (you know, the grammar things).

Thanks again for reading!

UP NEXT:
Ron's first day (week) in school. Which means we'll run into professors, including that guy who teaches (?) Potions. And maybe some new friends.

Chapter Text

EDIT: Made an important change in the Potions class scene. A huge shoutout to RonWeasleyIsMyKing3180 for pointing out that only one of the Patils (Parvati) was in Gryffindor. *sweats* Sorry about that. (ToT)

Chapter Five:

The First Week

Ron never thought he would miss it, waking up for his early morning run.

Yet here he was, jogging about Hogwarts grounds, under the purple and gold blended twilight, breathing in the breeze, cool with the scent of pine and freshly mowed grass morning dew, taking in the sights of the intact stone, quiet woods and serene green land, and loving every second of it.

It also helped that there weren't a lot of people around this early, what with classes typically starting at around 8. It gave Ron the opportunity to go around without anyone noticing.

The first years had a free period in the morning before classes begin to familiarize themselves with the wonders and oddities of Hogwarts as well as their own schedules and locations of the classrooms. But since Ron already knew the castle second to the back of his hand (or the Burrow), the boy had more than enough free time to settle down the eighteen-turned-eleven way.

First order of business was to cast all the necessary charms (alarm, privacy, muffiliato, the usual) on his four poster bed domain, not only to keep potentially nosey dorm mates-like Seamus-out of his space, but also so that they won't be disturbed just in case Ron's nightmares got out of hand again. The red head then spent the rest of his pre-jogging minutes rehashing his daily routine according to what he remembered from his first-year schedule.

Regarding his readings, he was already done with the first year material since mid-August (one good thing about second hand books is the abundance of notes made by Bill and Percy; the past Ron hardly paid attention to them, but the Ron now saw them as a Merlin-send), and was in the process of looking into the second year subjects.

Before Lockhart ruined his second year with his pompous farce of a curriculum—all his parents' hard-earned money, wasted on that spineless wanker! —the standard Defense Against the Dark Arts second year book would have been The Dark and The Dangerous: Offense as the Best Defense, also by Quentin Trimble. He'd only browsed the book (Bill's old one) so far, but Ron can already tell that it has way more useful than all of Lockhart's shite claiming to be school books.

The Dark and The Dangerous. Standard Book of Spells Grade 2. They're all the new (worthwhile) books for second years. So, if Ron wanted to have any new books to read, the next place to be at was obvious.

Never in his wildest dreams had Ron thought he would actually plan to go to the library. Willingly. By his own initiative.

(He also never expected to come face to face with Death then be sent back in time either.).

And yet, after his morning exercises, a quick wash and fresh change of robes, Ron found himself standing in the library, before the wide oak desk of one Madame Pince.

If the boy could describe the librarian in one word, it would be dark: from her black hair all wound up in a tight bun, to her thick, coarse looking black and grey robes and feathered hat, to her deep set onyx eyes and her lips as if painted with tar.

Even the way she was looking at him—hard, apathetic, scrutinizing—was borderline dark. He wondered if she and Snape were somehow related.

Maybe I should have gone on my own...

"Yes, young man?" Madame Pince's flat tone was far from welcoming, but Ron will not be deterred.

"'Morning, uhm, Madame Pince. Just wondering if I could borrow some books?"

Pince's stare burned into Ron's for a brief moment before asking, "What year?"

"Err, first year."

"A bit unusual for a first year to come by the library on their first day." Her tone sounded almost accusing.

Deep breaths, Weasley. Deep breaths. "I'm not here to stir up trouble. I'm just here for some books." He cleared his throat. "Madame."

"Books on what, exactly?"

Merlin's soggy pants, I just want to read! Why does she have to make it so hard?

It was after a bit of candid prodding from Pince and Ron maybe losing a bit of his temper that the banshee of a librarian finally directed Ron to a section of shelves at the far left (along with a stern warning to not ruin her precious books with his oily, sweaty fingerprints).

Why didn't that bloody hag just do this in the first place? The time traveler thought with a scowl a frog march to the designated section. If she and Snape weren't related, I'd say they're made for each other! Really should have just gone off on my own after all!

It took a few breaths and for Ron to randomly grabbing a book from the shelf Pince pointed him to dampen his irritation.

Hogwarts Electives: How to Choose the Ones Right for You.

Blinking owlishly, the boy scanned the other titles from where that came from.

A Hogwarts Primer for the Busy Student.

Hogwarts: The Firstie's Guide to Survive and Thrive

Where, After Seventh Year?

The Muggleborn Essentiale to the Magical World

...Fine, maybe she's not a complete bitch after all.

"There you are, Ron!" Harry greeted his friend when the two met at the entrance of Gryffindor Tower. "Seamus said you were already up and out, but didn't know where you went."

"Sorry about that, mate." Ron said guiltily. He had been so focused on his schedule that he nearly forgot that this was Harry's first day in Hogwarts and would appreciate the help in getting around. "Got around for a bit of a run earlier. I planned on making it back before half past 7, but I lost track of the time."

Harry's green eyes lit up. "Really? You could do that here?"

"No one said I can't, so I just went ahead." The red head perked up. "Hey, if you want, you can join me sometime. I usually start at around 5. Might help us get settled in and all that." And it'll be good practice for you on waking up early once you become our Seeker.

"You won't mind?"

"'Course I won't! Besides it gets boring when you're running around without anyone to talk to." Ron said with a smirk. "You're stuck with me now, Potter! I hope someone's told you you better be ready for the long haul!"

To Ron's relief, Harry gave him an almost bashful smile. "If you're sure…"

"Obviously! Now come on, I'm starving and there's some toast in the Great Hall with my name all over it!"

A slight laugh escaped Harry then as he joined Ron on the way down, the two engaging in small talk as they took in the wonders of Hogwarts' moving staircases, lively portraits and the occasional ghost.

Ron couldn't help but think how, cute, Harry looked at the sight of everything: the child-like wonder, the way those emerald eyes glittered in open amazement and excitement, the way his face lit up like a small moon in joy.

But then an image of a dirt-smeared, blood-stained, war-weary Harry flashed before his eyes, one that Ron stomped away with a vengeance as he took his seat next to his friend at the Great Hall.

He cannot allow himself to dwell on that future, not when the Harry beside him was still so innocent, eager to explore the magical world, and hopeful in finally finding somewhere where he was not a freak.

He instead turned to Harry, who was staring intently at the pieces of parchment next to their plates. "You don't like sausage?"

"Huh? Err, no, I mean, I like sausage, it's just that," Harry waved the slip at Ron. "I was just looking at the schedule today."

"Uh huh. Classes don't start until eleven today though. We got loads of time."

The black-haired boy let out a sigh. "But there are just so many subjects here and I don't know the first thing about them. I'm really going to be the worst student in class!"

Oh. Ron remembered going through this the last time too, that Harry was so nervous about being sent home that he felt that every little thing could do it.

The red-haired wizard put his fork down and laid Harry's schedule on the space between them.

"No, you won't! A lot of us don't know much about these subjects either, even those of us from magical households." Except for Hermione, naturally. Ron shook his head. "But if it'll help you feel better, I can tell you a bit about some of them."

At Harry's eager nod, Ron went to explain a bit about some of the subjects he knew about, including Transfiguration ("Taught by our own Head of House. But don't think that'll make it easier for us. Professor McGonagall's not known for playing favorites."), Defense Against the Dark Arts ("It's a great subject, really. But I heard that Professor Quirrel's...not the type of teacher you'd expect to teach it. There's also the rumor that the DADA post is jinxed."), Charms ("You'll love this class, Harry! I heard Professor Flitwick's pretty cool, and there's a lot you can do with charms!"), and so on.

But the way Harry looked at him as if he was smart and all-knowing, attentively absorbing everything he could while he was at it, made Ron a tad uncomfortable. All his Hogwarts life, he was never the one people looked to for guidance or answers. Even Ginny learned not to once she started school. While he was happy to be of help to his friend, it was also a bit of a pressure, for Ron would give anything to not waste Harry's newfound trust in him.

Hopefully, once Harry sees me and the others do just as well as him in class, he'll have more confidence. Ron thought with a smile and a swig of pumpkin juice. That way, he'll get that I'm just a regular bloke who only knows a thing or two, and not...anything else better than that.

And besides, if that's how it's been in the past, if I don't do anything unusual, it's bound to stay the same, right? 

He had been so confident that it would be easy, almost as natural as breathing because really, when had he been anything but ordinary? When was he anything but the sidekick? It made that very clear during their chess game, didn't It?

In hindsight, Ron realized five days after his and Harry's first class, his blind trust in that fact should have told him that he was going to fail. Spectacularly.

The fact that he and Harry were always one of the first five people to arrive during their lessons was the first sign. Ron hadn't thought much of it in the first few classes, but it was around the fourth class of him and Harry being the first ones to arrive did it dawn on him: he was supposed to be a first year, someone who is still new to the castle. Someone who is expected to get lost at some point because the halls, the portraits and even the stairs could change every second.

Not someone who has been in the bloody thing for six whole years.

But by then, almost all his housemates seemed to have clued in that Ron Weasley knew his way around the castle better than any other first year, and had stuck to him and Harry throughout the rest of their classes, for the whole week like a bunch of lost puppies!

Now if that was the end of it, Ron wouldn't be bemoaning his fate so much. But oh no, that was just the beginning!

His first class, Transfiguration, had gone the same way Ron remembered it: McGonagall turning a desk into a pig and back, a bit of question and answer, lots of note taking, and Hermione getting all the attention by answering all the questions ("15 points to Gryffindor!") In other words, generally uneventful as far as he was concerned.

But then the practical part came.

Now Ron always felt he was pretty average when it came to Transfiguration, but even he could turn a matchstick into a needle and back—a first year level spell, for crying out loud!— in his sleep. However, because he didn't want to give anyone the wrong idea, he had planned to stall and pretend to struggle like everyone else.

(In fact, his mind had been honestly occupied by the book on electives he borrowed from the library)

But then McGonagall just had to come to his and Harry's desk.

It was a testament to his Head of House's years of experience that she could tell that Ron wasn't even trying.

"Oh, do put a bit more effort into it, Mr. Weasley!" The old woman said sternly, making the time traveler sweat anxiously.

"Err, sorry, Professor. It's just, I guess I'm really not that good—"

"I don't expect all of you to do it perfectly in the first try. But I do expect your best effort. Now, try again."

Ron's blue eyes darted between McGonagall and the matchstick on his desk before giving a sigh of defeat, and with a flick of his wand later, the red and wood turned into perfectly pointy silver.

Harry—who, at the moment, had only succeeded in sharpening the tip of his matchstick—let out a whoop, and everyone around them turned to see what had drawn the attention of the Boy-Who-Lived. Even Hermione looked up from her half-transformed work.

"Not that good, Mr. Weasley?" McGonagall said while holding his matchstick-turned-needle-aloft. "Not a lot of first years can turn a matchstick into a needle this perfectly in such a short time."

Only because of years of experience that you won't believe I have, the boy had wanted so badly to say. But alas, it appeared that he had made an impression on McGonagall, given the way she smiled at him and awarded Gryffindor ten points for his work.

And then during Charms class, once Flitwick had gotten over Harry Potter being in his class, the half-goblin professor started the class on casting the Lumos charm. Simple enough for most of the first years to get it on their first several times. In fact, Harry had managed a ball of light as small as a candle flame in the past.

It was just Ron's rotten luck that his wand decided to act up again.

In the middle of Ron's first attempt, a light so bright burst out of his wand that it covered the whole room in glowing white and made almost everyone shriek in surprise.

"Bugger! Sorry, I'll fix this!" Ron hurriedly apologized as he tightened his grip on his wand, which was near burning in his palm. It was an old problem, really, of having too much power going into the wand and his spellwork. Thankfully, the solution was pretty simple, especially for a spell that continuously fed on his magic: wave the wand up sharply while willing the magic to be drawn back to his core (something he figured out the hard way when he first tried Aguamenti). The light quickly receded, much to Ron's relief, but it left behind a glow at the tip of his wand as big as one of Trelawney's crystal balls.

Flitwick had been beside himself with excitement. "Such amazing control for your age, Mr. Weasley! And an above average Lumos to boot!"

Ron was so shocked that he sputtered, "But—but I lost control of my magic, didn't I? And I nearly blinded everyone!"

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Mr. Weasley. Overpowering spells happen to first years from time to time. What is important—and challenging for someone of your level, mind you—is regaining control over it! Why, I was about to step in before you handled everything on your own!" Flitwick said easily. "Take ten points for Gryffindor!"

Oh Merlin, help him. The way Harry was looking at him with stars in his eyes made Ron wish he could melt into the floor. But the damage to his reputation had been done.

With his above average performance in his classes, the fact that a few students saw him frequent the library every morning, the fact that Harry Potter chose him out of everyone else to befriend, and even the fact that his Sorting resulted in a near Hat stall-whispers about him being some sort of a prodigy spread like wildfire.

Years ago, Ron would have killed for the attention he was getting, but now, all the boy wanted to do was to go back to being just "the tall kid with the red hair". How could he even think this was a good thing? He could hardly go anywhere now without someone giving him the eye or the occasional whispering.

And now they think I'm a genius or something when the only reason I'm doing good so far is because I'm a seventh year doing first year work. Ron groaned after thumping his head on the table. Not only that, I managed to change so many things without meaning to. Morgana's knickers, please someone tell me this is not going to fuck up the future! That's the problem with time travel, right? If you change too much shite, then all that future knowledge will be next to useless! But how can I stop things from changing too much if they keep changing without me even trying?!

"Err, Ron?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry, Harry." Ron put on a smile for his best friend, who was right next to him eating some toast. "Were you saying something?"

"You haven't touched your pie yet." Harry pointed at the shepherd's pie quietly sitting on Ron's plate. "And you've been looking down all morning."

Bullocks. He didn't mean to make Harry worry, not when he was having a great week so far. Calm down, Ronald. Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths… "It's nothing, Harry. Just have a bit of a headache, is all."

"Is it because of all the classes? Maybe you're working a little too hard." Concern flickered in Harry's green eyes. "Getting up for the morning run and doing all your readings on top of everything else we need to work on…"

Mate, seriously, this is nothing. Wait till we get to Fifth year. Still, the fact that Harry was being a good friend was enough to put a genuine smile on Ron's face.

"I'm fine, I promise. I just need to sort out my head a bit. And the morning run's not a problem, now that I have someone with me all the while," said Ron. "But what about you, mate? You OK with the hours? 5 AM is pretty early."

"It's OK. I'm used to waking up early too, for back with the Dursleys." Harry cleared his throat before smiling again. "It's nice to wake up early for myself for once."

The eighteen-turned-eleven had to stop his lips from curling down on hearing about the Dursleys. "Sounds like a nightmare."

"It is! And having to wake up to Aunt Petunia's screeching on the door?" Harry cringed. "I'd take your alarm charm over that any day. And speaking of that…"

Ron laughed at his best friend's pointed stare. "I didn't forget, don't worry." On the first day Harry joined him on his morning runs, the redhead cast an alarm charm—one that screamed "GOT YOUR CONK!" in Peeves' voice—on his best friend's bed curtains.

The way Harry jumped out of his bed at 4:30 as if it were on fire was exactly how he did during the middle of third year, when, after Hermione helped them master the basics of it, Ron pulled the very same prank on him and their dorm mates.

The time traveler couldn't stop laughing all the way down Hogwarts grounds, until his black-haired friend had enough and chased Ron around the Great Lake.

Long story short: Ron ended up being a dripping mess, and it was only him promising to teach a smug Harry how to cast the alarm charm that spared him from closely resembling a wet dog in the end. But oh, was it worth it.

Harry appeared to be satisfied enough to go back to his bangers and mash when they heard a light thump behind the bespectacled wizard.

"Morning, Neville." Harry greeted the boy who came to sit next to them.

"Morning." Said Neville, though his eyes remained glued to his empty plate, his face drawn in apparent anxiety.

Or apparent to him anyway, Ron noted, when he saw Harry turn back to his breakfast without preamble. Not like Ron could fault his best friend for it. Looking back, he himself had been the same as, if not worse than, Harry when it came to the sensitivity department; and the thought that he may have overlooked Neville's distress in the past sent an intolerable draft into his gut.

Ron cleared his throat. "You OK, Neville?"

It took Neville a few seconds to realize Ron was talking to him. "Who? Oh, me? Don't mind me. Just feeling a bit nervous."

"Nervous? About what?"

"Potions." Neville said. "I heard that Professor Snape can be downright nasty, especially to Gryffindors. And I'm pants at Potions! And I might cause trouble for everyone!"

"Professor Snape? The one with the long greasy hair?" Harry repeated as he joined the conversation. A mildly unpleasant look crossed his features. "Yeah, he does look the part, doesn't he?"

An image of Neville covered in boils and the sound of sizzling flashed in Ron's mind, making him nearly swear.

Shite, I nearly forgot about that! And Snape's questions to Harry! That's today, isn't it? The boy's brow furrowed in thought. Wait, let me think. Nothing too important happened then, right? Except for Harry figuring it out that Snape hates him, and the thing with Neville. It wouldn't be a bad thing to change it, right?

After a few seconds of thinking, Ron let out a breath. Ah, screw it!

"No use to us worrying our hairs grey over it, right? Yeah Snape can be scary—my brothers kept saying so—but as long as we keep our heads down, we'll live with all our limbs attached!"

"Easy for you to say," Harry snorted. "You're one of the top students of our year!"

"He's exaggerating." Ron stage whispered to Neville. "Besides, you're pretty good at Herbology, and Potions use a lot of plants!"

"Err, I guess…"

"No, it's true! I bet you know loads that are used in potions! Is it true that there are some plants that have multiple names?"

"Several, actually." Neville said eagerly. "Some plants have two or even three names for it. Like rowan—a type of wand wood—it's also called quickbeam, or caorthann if you're Irish. And—and doll's-eyes is also another name for baneberry. The red or white varieties can be used for potion making, which I assume would be a type of poison since baneberries are poisonous."

"Wicked! You really know your stuff, Neville!" And Ron meant it. He knew that the shy Longbottom's best subject, but hearing him talk so much about it like this always hit home how good Neville was at it. Sad that it took about mid-fifth year before Neville became comfortable enough to do "plant talk" with the DA, because he assumed it would turn them off or something.

And just like the in the past, when Hermione complimented him about it, Neville's round cheeks burned red. "Th—thanks."

"Really, why do some plants have to have a load of names for it? Like that one, wolfsbane, I think it was? It had another name, err…" Ron pretended to think. "Was it monkeyboot? Monkpoop?"

Harry stared at him incredulously while Neville laughed. "It's monkshood, also aconite. It's the flowers is commonly used in potions, but we also use the roots. Not sure about the leaves, but I know they're poisonous too."

Ron watched his best friend nod quickly at all this information and smiled victoriously. Harry may not be as studious as Hermione, but he certainly had a knack for learning quickly. Come on, Ronald, think, what else did Snape ask during their first day?

A memory of poisoned mead came into his mind.

"All this talk about poisonous plants makes me queasy though! Ugh, at least the twins haven't thought of using any of those on me or I'm doomed! Know any quick antidotes to most poisons I could keep with me, Neville?"

Said boy paled a little at that. "Your brothers…won't really do that, will they?"

"Who knows?" Ron waved a hand. "Pranksters, remember?"

Harry and Neville traded looks before the latter coughed. "Well, there's no real catch-all antidote for all poisons, but, let me think," The Longbottom furrowed his brows. "Aha! Powdered bezoar! Gran keeps a few at home all the time, just in case! It usually works on most types of poisons!"

Good old Neville, the time traveler thought happily. "Thanks, mate. I'll keep that in mind." A pause, before Ron remembered to add, "Hey, isn't that the one made of a stone you get from a goat's gut?"

"Oh yeah, I remember reading about that! Wow, you sure know a lot too, Ron!"

Harry elbowed Neville. "What did I tell you? Top student of the year."

Ron gave his best friend the evil eye. "Sod off, Harry!"

But seeing that the git just laughed it off, Ron figured it still needs a little work.

As Harry and Neville continued to talk about plants and their shared dread for Potions, Ron mulled over his plan.

Well, I didn't get all of the questions Snape will ask Harry later, but at least I got what I remember. Hopefully, that'll keep Harry from getting too embarrassed in class later.

Now what can I do about Neville…?

Unlike the rest of the ones he had seen so far, Snape hadn't really changed from the way Ron last saw him (his past future self).

There was the same greasy shoulder length hair, the same hook nose, the same billowing black cloak that made him look like a bat with long legs in this frigid dark hole called the dungeons.

And of course, he was still the same bullying toe rag they had to call Professor.

"Ah, yes, Harry Potter. Our new," Sneer. "Celebrity."

But despite knowing all these things, despite the memories of the man being a right, bitter terror throughout most of his school life, Ron couldn't find it in himself to hate him anymore. Not as much as he used to anyway. Not to detract from the fact that Snape was (and still is) a vindictively cruel arse, but the Ron now knew the man had his reasons.

"You are here to learn the delicate and precise artistry of making potions. But, seeing as there is little foolish wand-waving here, you may hardly believe that this is magic. A concept only the most narrow-minded retain once you are through with my class, which unfortunately seems to be the norm."

Snape once said that Harry's mum was the only good thing that ever happened to him. It made Ron wonder, did Snape have a terrible childhood too? An unhappy home the same way Harry did? And the Marauders bullying him at Hogwarts must have made matters worse. The eighteen-turned-eleven certainly respected Sirius and Remus a great deal, but after everything he learned, Ron now knew that they owed Snape an apology as much as Snape owed them. And that both Snape and Sirius should get their heads out of their asses because the story was not as black and white as they make it to be.

Wow, Ronald, what a novel concept! Ron's sarcastic mind voice was back. A world that has many shades of grey areas? Oh, the bloody horror! The insanity! How is that even possible?!

"—Potter!" Ron nearly jumped out of his seat when Snape called out Harry's name. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Draught of the Living Dead. Ron recalled immediately, it being one of the last potions he brewed for Slughorn's class before the war. Something this Harry of course wouldn't know, seeing that it was a sixth-year level potion. Something Snape knew that Harry wouldn't know, seeing the patronizing smirk in Snape's face when Harry said so.

Instead of infuriating him, however, Ron merely rolled his eyes. Now that he thought about it, Snape was being rather petty here, wasn't he? Not only humiliating Harry in front of the class, but also ignoring an eager Hermione's hand. Oh, wait till he gets to one of the questions that Ron (with Neville) prepared Harry for—

"—where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" And what perfect timing!

Ron couldn't help his victorious smile the same way Harry couldn't help his face relaxing as he said, "From a goat's stomach? Sir?"

Snape's face slackened for a miniscule of a second—didn't expect that, did you? Ron thought vindictively—before the man huffed. "Hmm, it appears that a student has gotten lucky. Let's see if lightning strikes twice," the man paused before meeting Harry's eyes dead on. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry's lips were obviously struggling not to twitch upwards. "They're the same plant, sir. My friend said it's also known as aconite."

Ron nearly laughed out loud at that answer. Wow, Harry, just had to be a little cheeky there, huh?

Snape predictably didn't take it well. "One point from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter. Be grateful that your current company is keeping you from being a complete failure!"

Now that comment got a rise out of Ron. What the hell? Even after getting most of the questions right, Snape still gets to humiliate Harry in front of everyone? How the bloody fuck is that fair?!

The red head felt that he should be angrier, but when Harry subtly elbowed him to say, "Thanks, mate, you just saved my life!" with that same starry-eyed look he had been giving Ron lately, made all that anger cool into discomfort.

(It's no problem, Harry, but it's also not that big of a deal, come on!)

It was enough to help Ron focus on the rest of the lesson, which was about the Cure for Boils potion, one that Ron was confident he could make fairly well enough thanks to his back readings and his retained memories. In fact, Ron was so confident that, no matter who he gets paired with, he'll be able to make the potion all right (except if he's paired with Malfoy. Or Crabbe or Goyle).

Wait, something clicked in Ron's mind, making him grin. That's it! That's how I can help Neville!

While Snape's attention was on the board, the ginger head turned to his best friend. "Hey, Harry, can you do me a favor?"

A smile lit up Ron's face when Harry went up to Neville once Snape announced to the class to pair off for brewing the Cure for Boils potion. Ron would have paired with Neville himself, but he didn't want Harry to end up being paired with someone he wasn't comfortable with, and in Potions of all classes. Granted, it was the situation Ron was facing now, but the time traveler didn't mind it so much. And since Harry was pretty average when it came to Potions, he had faith that his best friend will keep Neville from melting the cauldron. Problem solved!

Now there's the matter of who else I can pair up with… Ron looked around to see who else had no partner. Hermione paired up with the Gryffindor Patil (What was her name again?), Seamus paired with Dean, Lavender was with another Gryffindor girl whose name escaped him at the moment.

Hell, was everyone paired up but him?

"Weasley, what are you doing?"

It took a whole lot of willpower for Ron to not jump out of his skin when Snape as if apparated behind him. "Oh, err, sorry Professor. It's because, I was looking for someone pair up with."

An impatient look crossed Snape's face, and for a second, Ron thought the man was going to fail him for this class right there and then. But then the man inclined his head.

"I will only consider this because word has it that you have a modicum of competence. But prove those rumors wrong, and you will find that there are worse things you can experience in this school other than expulsion. Is that clear?"

Ron had to remember to not raise his brow at the unexpected response from the man. What brought that on? But before he could clarify, the professor gestured for him to follow until they reached the second to the last row of the Slytherin column.

"Greengrass, it appears that you will not have to do the potion yourself. Weasley has agreed to be your partner for this session."

I have? The cold look Snape sent Ron's ways made him nod quickly anyway.

The girl in front of him, Greengrass, looked like a female Malfoy, with long, golden hair clipped to one side by a diamond studded hair clip, a pale, heart-shaped face, long aristocratic nose and slanted green eyes. The difference is that while the air around Malfoy screamed condescending pigswill, Greengrass frankly looked like she couldn't care any less. Her flat reply of "Yes, professor," definitely made that clear.

Ron could have sworn he had seen her face somewhere before, in the old timeline…

"…So, how are we supposed to do this?" Ron forced his mind back to the present after Snape left.

Something crossed Greengrass' features for split second before she pointed at her table. "I have already gathered the needed ingredients and was about to crush the snake fangs."

"OK. So what do you want me to do?"

Greengrass gave him a long look. "You have paid attention in class, haven't you?"

"'Course I did." Ron may have said that a little too defensively. "But I need to know who's doing what, or else I might end up leaving you to do all the work, and Professor Snape will skin my hide." He then raised an eyebrow. "Unless you were planning to make me brew it by myself?"

Greengrass raised an eyebrow back at him. "I wouldn't risk your abysmal potion making skills ruining my performance, Weasley."

The familiar heckles of anger were crawling back up his gut again, but Ron forced it away. Calm down. Deep breath. You don't want Snape to skin you alive. Calm down.

"All right then, how about I do the dirty work of crushing the snake fangs and measuring the slugs while you do the wand waving and the stirring? Even someone with" And Ron air quotes, "Abysmal potion making skills can do that much right by your standards, you reckon?"

"…Acceptable. I'll keep the fire burning while you prepare the fangs. Don't take too long."

The pair then fell silent as they did their respective tasks, with Ron methodically crushing the fangs to the finest powder he could. In the past, Ron couldn't care less about this, but the Ron now wanted to make the effort because—while also motivated by his promise to learn and be better prepared in knowledge and skill this time around— he also wanted to rub it into the Snape's face that just because the man is blatantly playing favorites doesn't mean that Ron will inevitably stink at Potions. And while Snape can make it harder for Ron and the Gryffindors to get a good grade in his class, not even Snape can deny an Outstanding or Exceeds Expectations where it was due. (For all Snape's displeasure with Hermione for her association with Harry, she never got a Potions grade lower than EE.)

Snape's earlier threat looming over his head was also a pretty good motivator.

All things considered, Ron was pretty grateful that out of all the Slytherins he could have paired up with, he went with someone whose snootiness tolerable enough. She obviously came from a wealthy family (the Greengrasses were part of the Noble and Ancient Houses, weren't they?), but at least she hadn't brought up his blood traitor status, and in fact seemed to take their class rather seriously. He poured in the four measures of snake fangs while she kept the cauldron at the right temperature. Then while waiting for the cauldron to cool, Ron observed her leafing through Magical Drafts and Potions with an intent look on her face instead of loafing around like Malfoy and his croonies two tables to their front.

For some reason, Ron's mouth ran without him thinking. And with Snape obviously preferring to stalk over the Gryffindors' side of the dungeons more at the Slytherins', Ron didn't have to worry about Snape catching him off guard again.

"You like Potions?"

Greengrass looked up from her book, her brows raised briefly before her face smoothed out again. "No, I'm obviously reading this because I have nothing better to do and couldn't care less if I failed this class."

The sarcasm was thick in her jab, but instead of rising to the bait, Ron shrugged. "You know you could have just said 'yes'. And just because you don't want to fail in Potions doesn't mean you like it."

"Much like just because I'm here in Hogwarts doesn't mean I want to be here?"

Now that caught Ron's interest. "You don't?"

Greengrass flipped another page instead. Seconds of silence went by before it got the better of Ron again. "Why don't you like Hogwarts?"

"…I never said that I didn't."

"So you do?"

The girl looked up from her book again. "You're an awfully nosey one, aren't you?"

Ron shrugged. "We have thirty minutes before I have to add the slugs. I'm bored."

"Then run along and bother Potter or your fellow Gryffindor friends."

"Can't. They're too far away."

"They're at the next column, you dunderhead!" For the first time since Ron paired up with her, Greengrass' eyes flashed, the beginnings of a scowl marring her once flat face. So, it's not frozen that way after all! Good to know.

"So why don't you like Hogwarts?"

"I just told you that I don't. Don't don't like Hogwarts, I mean." Greengrass answered sharply.

"I mean, the classes are nice, aren't they? Except for History of Magic, I guess. But you look like a bookish know-it-all, so you got to love our classes. Not that it's a bad thing. I think all the Houses have their own bookish know-it-alls. Maybe not the Ravenclaws, because they're all bookish know-it—"

"Do you have a point?"

"I'm saying that even if say, hypothetically," emphasized Ron, "you don't like Hogwarts, there must be something you can learn to like here. If you like Potions, Sn—Professor Snape is your Head of House, and I heard he's…helpful to Slytherins. And if you're into books, there's a lot of good ones in the library about Potions and other stuff. And the food!" He waved a hand. "Come on, if nothing else, you have to admit, the food here is bloody good!"

(Hypothetically, huh? See, Hermione, I do know how to use big words!)

"…Are you done yet?"

"No. We still have twenty-five minutes."

"The longest twenty-five minutes of my life." Greengrass groaned before closing her book with a snap. "For someone who doesn't like associating with our kind, you sure are talkative."

Ron felt his blood freeze a little. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're a Weasley anda Gryffindor. The type who wouldn't touch anything Slytherin-related with a yard-long pole. When Professor Snape paired us, I was half-expecting you to be foaming in the mouth over being near a snake."

The boy frowned. "Someone's quick to judge."

Greengrass' eyes shone clearly with challenge. "You lot never tried to prove otherwise."

Well you lot never tried to prove that you're more than pureblood-manic, muggle-hating, Dark Lord boot licking scum, was Ron's instinctive rejoinder.

But if I say that, then I'm just proving her right. Ron realized. And it's not fair, because so far, she hadn't acted like a pureblood-maniac, muggle-hating, Dark Lord boot licking scum. This is exactly what must have driven the Slytherins to side with Voldemort. The time traveler bit his lip. And he used to be part of the problem.

Deep breaths. Change for the better, Weasley. Change for the better. Deep breaths.

"I guess I can't blame you for thinking that," said Ron. "But I'm bugging you instead of Harry and Neville, right? And instead of, you know, foaming in the mouth over being near a snake? So maybe if you give me a chance, I will be able prove you otherwise."

"And why should I?"

"I don't know." Ron answered honestly. "So it's all up to you."

Greengrass fingered the edge of her book for a moment before saying, "Am I supposed to find that touching, Weasley?"

"…No, you're supposed to find that completely disgusting, enough to throw a handful of horned slugs at my face before walking away with your nose up high." Ron quipped in a tone that could have come off as rude but, for some reason, made Greengrass' lips budged the tiniest bit upwards.

"In case you forget, those are my ingredients, Weasley, and I'm not wasting any of my slugs on you."

"Thank Merlin for that. I wouldn't want to end up smelling like one all day!"

Greengrass tutted. "…You know, just for that, I might consider taking up that offer."

Ron smirked with a shake of his head. "Sorry, Greengrass, that was a one-time deal only."

"We still have about twenty minutes. More than enough time to find something else to throw."

"…How about some nice porcupine quills?"

All in all, it had been a strange but mostly all right lesson. He and Greengrass ended up making an Exceeds Expectations grade Cure for Boils potion; Harry and Neville survived the class with their dignities intact; and best of all, no one melted a cauldron today.

Oh, and he somehow made acquaintances with Greengrass, dry humor and all.

Not a bad way to top off the stressful week he'd been having.

If there are things that will change around without Ron doing anything, he might as well continue with his plan of changing what he intended to begin with. As for everything else, the time traveler supposed he could go with the flow, see where it takes him.

"Hey, Ron," He was pulled out of his musings while lounging at the Common Room by Harry's hand on his shoulder. "I'm off to see Hagrid. You want to go with me?"

"What? You're visiting Hagrid's today?"

Harry nodded. "He wrote to me this morning, remember? Tea around three?"

Oh, right, that visit at Hagrid's, when Harry found out about the theft at Gringotts. That was today too! The tall red head got up. "Sure, why not. I want to meet Hagrid!" Ron and Harry were about to head for the portrait hole when Ron spied Neville sitting by himself near the fireplace.

Lips in a tight line, he lightly nudged Harry's arm. The green-eyed boy's confused expression became soft with compassion when he followed Ron's train of view.

"Hey Neville!" Harry called out to the boy whose head shot up in surprise. "We're having tea with a friend of ours. Do you want to join us?"

The way the chubby faced boy's eyes lit up as he stumbled to reach Harry and him made Ron smile.

If nothing else, at least with Neville, he had done something right.

A few readers mentioned to me that they were hoping I would make Ron a Slytherin, and to be honest, it was a tempting prospect. The potential for drama, surprise and character development that come with that plot thread is huge, and despite Ron's aversion to the snakes, he does have the potential to be one (his suppressed desire to surpass his brothers is a form of ambition). But there is already so much going on in TBA that adding the Ron-being-Slytherin drama on top of all that is too much, I think.

There are already a number of excellent fanfics featuring Slytherin!Ron (I personally recommend Choices by randomfruitcake, Fate by TheTrueSpartan, and The Red Knight by Demon Eyes Laharl), and I think I've even read a Ravenclaw!Ron somewhere so I'm happy to shelve this idea for now.

[Besides, I have another Ron-centric project I'm working on alongside TBA and everything else I've been writing, which means I'll be too busy to write it out anyway. :)]

And yay, Ron's first interaction with a non-Gryffindor, and a Slytherin to boot! Writing Hogwarts students outside the Golden Trio or Malfoy and his goons is pretty fun because most of the time, their characters and even their appearances are open to fan interpretation.

Daphne Greengrass, for example, has been portrayed as anything between a spoiled princess to a pragmatic neutralist (and either a blonde or a brunette). I tried to make Ron's first interaction with her as in character as possible while also taking into consideration his experiences, new insights and the fact that he really is trying to change for the better. But if you find this story lacking a Ron-losing-his-temper episode, don't worry, there will be some of those somewhere down the road (this is still Ron after all, as evidenced by his bouts of inner rage).

Thank you once again to everyone who read/reviewed/followed my fanfic. Amazing how I reached the 100+ review mark in under 10 chapters! Chuchi is so touched. (TuT) Feedback, corrections and suggestions greatly appreciated as always!

Stay indoors! Stay safe! Wash your hands!

UP NEXT: 

An unexpected encounter, an interesting proposal, a little bit of flying, and…Ron has a hero complex?

Chapter Text

Originally, I planned to have TBA Years 1 to 7 all in one fanfic. But now I'm considering to split up the fanfic into volumes the same way JK did, per year. What do you guys think?

Also, special thanks to Kiki1770 for the comment on the formatting regarding Ron's thoughts in writing. If anyone else is having the same difficulty regarding TBA, hope the changes make it easier to follow now.

Anyways, enough of that. On with the show!

EDIT: Is this deserving a corner of shame? By golly it does! :D

Special thanks to sincerelyki for pointing out that Cedric should be in Fourth Year at this time, not Third Year like my brilliant math skills suggested. Keep those fact checks coming! Chuchi's Corner of Shame is always happy to receive them! Haha!

Oh, and, err, more minor grammar edits, I guess?

Chapter Six:

The More Things Change

The tea time at Hagrid's went about the same way Ron remembered it, even with Neville with them, from the impossibly hard rock cakes to the paper detailing the Gringotts break-in to Harry's uncanny knack at picking up the little details anyone would have missed.

Judging by the pensive mood his best friend had been all night, Ron knew that Harry was already thinking about the connection between the break-in and the package from vault seven hundred and thirteen but decided not to pry. Experience taught Ron that if Harry wanted to open up about something, he'd do so in his own time. And as long as it wasn't anything important or immediately life-threatening, Ron was fine with it.

Besides, the time traveler also too much in mind to play interested in a mystery he already knew the answer behind. Instead, his thoughts were on the books he borrowed from the Library last Monday.

In accordance with the British Ministry of Magic Auror Office standards, he read in Where, After Seventh Year? A potential Auror candidate has to have a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s, all with grades of either 'Outstanding' (O) or 'Exceeds Expectations' (E) for their application to be accepted.

For as long as Ron could remember, he had always wanted to be an Auror. And while the reasons for it changed over time, Ron hadn't been able to see him become anything else but that. But while Professor McGonagall had been very helpful in informing him of the application process and the subjects that would increase his chances for acceptance, the books he had been reading made Ron realize that there was more to it than what McGonagall had told him.

The Auror Office accepts N.E.W.T.s of all subjects, and there is no limit in the number an applicant can submit for consideration. However, some N.E.W.T.s are worth more points than others, and that core subject N.E.W.T.s may not necessarily be of higher value than elective N.E.W.T.s. For example, an E Advanced Runic Studies N.E.W.T. is worth more than an O N.E.W.T. in Herbology. Recommended core subject N.E.W.T.s that give most positive recommendation points are: Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology and Potions; while recommended electives N.E.W.T.s are: Advanced Runic Studies, Advanced Arithmancy, and Advanced Magical Theory.

That means, Ron surmised as he wrote in his notebook, if I choose my electives right, I'll be able to improve my chances and learn something new to fight Death Eaters with! It's a good thing that the Auror selection program accepts N.E.W.T.s from all subjects, because knowing me, I probably won't get an E on Herbology since I don't have a green thumb like Neville. But I think I'll be able to get the rest.

He scribbled Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions under the Core Subjects column, then pausing after writing down Electives? on the opposite side. Last time, I picked Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. Care of Magical Creatures was interesting, but I only took Divination for an easy O. I can't think that way anymore.

Ron then flipped through Hogwarts Electives: How to Choose the Ones Right for You. So, to get to the Advanced N.E.W.T.s, I need to take the basic elective courses like Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. But which ones should I pick? I should have listened to Hermione more when she talked about these. Not that she talked about them much except Arithmancy, but…

"You're reading about electives already?" An amused voice said from his left.

Ron instinctively whipped out his wand in reflex, making the speaker back away with hands raised. "Hey, hey, take it easy there, little Weasley!"

But instead of calming Ron down, the sight of him filled the boy's lungs with cold air. "D—Diggory?"

Cedric Diggory grinned warmly despite being at the end of Ron's wand. "Diggory, really? What happened to Cedie?"

A bit of color returned to Ron's cheeks as he scowled. "I'm not six anymore, Dig—fine, Cedric. And bloody hell, scare a first year to death, why don't you?"

"Sorry, my bad. But to be fair, with the way you took your wand out earlier, I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes." Cedric laughed, taking a seat across Ron. "So, I guess that means we're even."

"What are you even doing here?"

"Can't old friends say hello to each other?"

"In the Library, really?" Ron's blue flickered to the main counter. "Do you want Pince to murder us?"

"Madame Pince, Ronnie. And as long as we keep our voices down, she won't notice at this distance," said Cedric. "Besides if you're not here, you're usually with Potter."

"And you can't talk to me about this with Harry around because?"

Cedric tapped his chin. "Hearing it like that does sound suspicious, doesn't it? I just thought it would be better to speak to you in private. Are you aware that there are extra-curricular clubs here in Hogwarts?"

"Extra-curricular clubs?" Ron echoed. "You mean like the Quidditch teams?"

"Not surprising that that's the only one you know. I'm pretty sure more than half of the Hogwarts population are Quidditch fans." Cedric said with a shrug. "It's just too bad that you can't join the Quidditch team until second year. But there are other clubs you can be part in if you're interested. I'm part of a group of inter-related clubs made to help the lower years in their studies, from the core subjects to the available electives."

"You mean like a study group."

"More than a study group. The clubs were created in collaboration with the lecturers for each subject. The students get to understand the courses better, and the lecturers get to improve their teaching skills."

"There are lecturers in Hogwarts?" The younger wizard blurted in genuine surprise. Six years in Hogwarts and he never even heard about that!

"They're the ones who assist the Professors with administrative tasks, keeping things in order, grading assignments and all that. They also help conduct exams including the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. But since they're not seen around as much, especially by the lower years, not a lot of people know about them."

Now that Ron thought about it, there were some tests during his fifth years that were not conducted by his Professors. He realized he just never paid much attention to it.

But if what Cedric said is true, "So these study groups—clubs—you said a first year can join? Even for those on the electives?"

"Absolutely. I've been part of the Ancient Runes club since first year, and then the Arithmancy club last year." The Hufflepuff said. "It's going to be hard work, since the Lecturers will give you homework every now and then, but if you join early, you'll have an easier time once you start taking the credited electives. You can also be part of a core subject club if you're having a hard time with a specific one."

This was sounding better by the second, though some things still escaped Ron. "But why all the secrecy? These clubs sound great, so why couldn't you tell me about this around Harry? Actually, why tell me at all? Couldn't you just have posted notes about it?"

For some reason, that query made Cedric's eyes glow. "Yes, we do post notices on the Common Room boards, but from experience, a post on subject related clubs don't really attract much attention."

"…Point." If there had been notices about these sorts of clubs at the Gryffindor Common Room, the Ron back then wouldn't have cared enough to remember.

"To be honest, most of my peers wanted to approach Harry Potter." Cedric went on. "The clubs needed more promotion to attract new members, something we don't have much of lately, and what better way to do that than to have the Boy-Who-Lived as a member?"

Round blue eyebrows narrowed. "You want to recruit Harry through me, is that it?"

"I said that was what my peers wanted, but I don't exactly agree," Cedric elaborated. "I'm sure Potter is a nice enough bloke, but the course clubs are not about getting the most members or being the most popular. It's about helping students who want to learn and are having trouble with their classes. I want to promote our clubs as much as the next member, but if I'm going to personally invite anybody, it will have to be someone who I think takes their studies seriously. And word around is that you're some kind of prodigy."

"Rubbish! I'm not—!" Ron's ears burned again, but this time not out of anger. "Stop pulling my leg, Diggory!"

"Wouldn't dream of it. You know, if you're serious about becoming an Auror, you should join the Ancient Runes club too. We meet every Wednesdays and Saturdays from half past five to seven, in case you're interested."

Ron made a mental note to write the schedule down later. "If say I am, can I bring my friends with me?"

Cedric nodded. "Of course! We do want new members after all. We got members from all Houses so it's a good opportunity for you to meet new people."

The young Weasley blinked thoughtfully. "Members from all Houses? Even Slytherins?"

The older student however mistook his surprise for apprehension and made a placating gesture. "It will be fine. We don't tolerate any form of bullying in the clubs. Trust me, I know some members who have been kicked out because of that. And contrary to what some might think, not all of the bullies are from Slytherin."

"Didn't mean anything by it." Ron said plainly. "Just because I'm Gryffindor doesn't mean I hate Slytherins on principle."

Cedric's gaze sharpened for a moment too long before…

"Oi!" To Ron's surprise, Cedric suddenly reached and ruffled his red hair. "G—Geroff!"

Cedric's smile was a little too cheery. "You're all right, Ronnie."

"Huh?"

The fourth year stood up and waved. "Sorry, I better go. Quidditch team meeting after breakfast. See you around!"

Ron's gaze followed the retreating Hufflepuff, disbelief creasing his brow, until Cedric faded from view.

"Hogwarts has study clubs?"

Ron nodded from between Harry and Neville, the three huddled in the Common Room playing Gobstones. "I had the same reaction. Turns out you can learn something new about Hogwarts even if you have five older brothers who went here."

It had been three days since that strange encounter with Cedric Diggory in the library, and while Ron tried to not to dwell, the offer kept coming back to mind, distracting him so much that it became too obvious to Harry and Neville for them not to ask about it. And despite Ron's attempts to brush them off, the two other boys were like bloodhounds on a scent.

Finally thinking that it won't do too much harm if he told the truth—because Cedric did say that Ron could bring some friends along anyway—the red head caved in.

Neville looked both intrigued and nervous about the idea. "They even have one on Potions? I sure could use the help. But you said there are members from the other Houses there too?"

"Yeah, but from what I've heard, they mostly get on pretty well." Ron paused. "You reckon you want to join, Neville?"

The chubby boy hesitated. "It sounds nice, but…I don't know if, I can hardly fit in our own House. Even Slytherins!"

Ron shrugged. "You'll never know until you try, right? And the bloke who approached me, Diggory? I can vouch at least for him."

"An old friend?" Asked Harry.

That made the time traveler pause. He didn't elaborate to Harry back in fourth year, but once upon a time, his parents would bring him and his siblings to play with the other neighboring children. Though he was rarely around, Cedric had been so friendly and charismatic that almost everyone was drawn to him, Ron included. But when the Hogwarts years came, suddenly it's like the once playmates had their own worlds defined by their houses and new friends.

Ron didn't think that Cedric was the type to forget a childhood friendship that easily. But back in the first life, the youngest Weasley boy felt that they drifted too far apart that they were back to being acquaintances.

But then he called me Ronnie, just like before. The eighteen-turned-eleven year old noted. As if nothing had changed. Had it…always been like that? It's not like either of us made time to find out in the past life. Why's now different?

"The son of one of our neighbors." Ron eventually answered. "Back when we were kids, our parents would bring me and my siblings to play with the other kids in St. Catchpole."

"Must be nice. It's just me and Nan home on most days, and there aren't any other kids my age nearby," said Neville with a dry smile.

"There are loads of kids my age in Privet Drive, but none I could call friends." Harry wrinkled his nose. "Dudley made sure of that. Are there many wizarding families at your place, Ron?"

"Not much, just the Diggorys, Lovegoods and Fawcetts. And unlike the Weasleys, the others don't have a lot of kids," Ron answered. "The ones I remembered playing with are Magdalene and Sabrina Fawcett, Cedric Diggory, and Luna Lovegood…"

Suddenly, his pocket felt warm, and he reached for it, his mind was filled with images.

"HELP! PLEASE, YOU GOTTA HELP HER! SHE'S—"

The humming of energy ringing in his ears.

"Budge, you stupid lump of rock! BUDGE!"

Cracking and a spray of crimson.

A gasp of air.

"It's OK, boy. It's OK. We got you. Both of you."

A pair of short arms on his torso, the scent of flowers, a hiccup.

"Thank you, Ron! Thank you so—"

"Blimey," remarked Neville. "What you guys reckon that's about?"

Ron blinked back to reality, shaking his head from the sudden onslaught of visions. Shite, seriously? Visions? Shouldn't they have stopped after that game with Death?

Good thing Harry and Neville were distracted by whatever it was going on at the notice board to notice Ron suddenly spacing out and now nursing a mild headache from it.

"Err, no idea. Want to check it out?" Looking a distraction from his puzzling visions, Ron made his way to the crowd gathering on the board. Squeezing through, he first noticed—more like searched for— the palm-sized parchment advertising the study clubs Cedric mentioned (At the left-hand bottom corner, really? How is anyone supposed to notice that?). The next was the larger roll pinned at the center of the board. "Flying lessons?"

"What? Already?" Neville whispered worriedly amidst the buzzing excitement over the announcement while Harry tilted his head in confusion. "Flying lessons?"

"It's a special class for first years, where they teach you to fly a broom properly," explained Neville.

"Oh? I thought first years weren't allowed brooms."

"They—we aren't, not until we pass flying lessons. That goes for us raised by magical folk too, even if we have been taught to ride brooms before." Neville explained. "Nan never let Uncle Algie teach me. Said I already get into enough accidents with both my feet on the ground."

"I wonder what flying feels like?" Mused Harry as he, Neville and Ron made their way back to their table.

"I guess we'll find out on Thursday," said Neville nervously. "But why do they have to pair us up with the Slytherins again?"

Harry's expression soured. "Just what I needed. More chances to make a fool of myself in front of Malfoy."

Ron's eyes widened on remembering. On our first flying lesson, Neville broke his wrist from falling off his broom! Is that something I need to do something about again?

But then he also remembered that it was the clumsy boy's fall that led to the events that made Harry seeker, which was a very good thing for his best friend. Was that worth letting his other friend get hurt again?

It's not like the fall had any real repercussions on Neville. Madame Pomfrey was able to fix the wrist as if nothing happened, and despite his clumsy self, the young Longbottom managed to pass flying lessons at the end of the year. No big deal, right?

Right?

As the days to Thursday wore on, Hogwarts was filled with talks about flying lessons, which then sparked further conversation about Quidditch. Ron found it especially amusing how many of the first years who grew up in magical households enjoyed telling exaggerated tales of their own flying experiences, like Seamus' so-called countryside flying escapades or Malfoy claiming that he was so good at flying that they should have made him an exemption for the "no first years on the school quidditch team" rule.

Then there were other first years, like Neville and Hermione, who appeared to dread the thought of their first flying lesson inching closer. Hermione tried to hide it, but anyone can tell that it was making her antsy. Ron knew this was because flying wasn't something her advanced readings or spellwork could help her with. And while she did eventually learn how to fly properly in the future, Hermione would rather not be anywhere near a broomstick if she could help it.

But what fun he could get from obviously outlandish stories and nervous first year antics worked little against the weight of anxiety he had been nursing in his gut all week. Not because of the flying lessons, but because of his indecision on what to do with Neville.

Saving him from a humiliating Potions lessons was one thing, because there was practically no con to it. But this time, if he helped stop Neville from breaking his wrist, he might not drop his Remembrall and not cause the chain of events leading to Harry becoming Gryffindor's seeker. And Ron would not want to inadvertently cause that to not happen.

So can he stop himself from interfering this time? Was that the right thing to do?

And I didn't even get to ask Harry or Neville if they wanted to go to the study clubs after all because of all this second-guessing shite! Ron was initially annoyed by that until he realized, not that they'll seriously think about anything else but flying anyway.

Before Ron knew it, Thursday morning had come. By the time he, Harry and Neville had come down the Great Hall for breakfast, the Gryffindor table was abuzz with the first year's anticipation for the afternoon.

"You should really eat something, Neville." Harry told the other dark-haired boy who was staring glumly at the waffles.

"Can't. Just in case I get sick while flying."

Ron felt like he should help Harry encourage Neville, but he hadn't touched the pancake on his plate either. Then he heard a thump in front of him and saw Hermione, her hair more frizzy than usual, her nose buried under a book. But instead of a core course book, Ron read Quidditch Through the Ages on the cover.

Much to the groans of majority within earshot, the bushy haired girl promptly went on and on about anything interesting she'd come across on her book, word per word, barely pausing for a nibble of croissant or a sip of pumpkin juice every now and then. Typical Hermione working off her nerves through reading and spouting knowledge, and Ron had gotten used to it enough to let her talk while tuning out at least half of it.

Unfortunately, the rest of his House mates appeared to be a foot away from taking off simultaneously or just throwing a couple of rolls at her head.

"Err, Hermione, not that we don't appreciate your advice but," The time traveler cleared his throat. "Maybe you should take it easy. Flying isn't something you'll learn by taking a book word per word to heart. I have five siblings who are mean fliers, and they didn't learn how to do it by reading." He shot a glance at Neville, who was Hermione's only avid listener. "Trust me, Neville, the only way you can learn to fly is to do it yourself."

Hermione's eyes flashed as she slammed her book closed on the table, and Ron could feel his entire being brace itself for an imminent explosion. But before the girl could open her tightly drawn mouth, a flock of owls came swooping in.

Ron hadn't been this grateful for the arrival of the mail in a long time.

"Oh," exclaimed Neville when a small, heavy sounding package landed on his plate. "It's from Nan!"

"What is it?" Harry asked while the other boy carefully tore the paper open. Just as Ron had expected, Neville fished out a shiny silver ball, big as a marble and filled with light colored mist for everyone to see.

"It's a Remembrall. Nan knows I forget things, so she said she'd send one over to me. You hold it, and when it glows," The smoke in the ball begun to change, making Neville's face fall. "Red, like this, it means you've forgotten something."

"Lot of good that'll do if it doesn't tell you anything else." Ron shook his head in exasperation. "Wouldn't it be nice to have something that shows you what you've forgotten?"

Neville sighed almost dreamily. "Would have been mighty helpful, that one. But what did I forget?"

"Schoolbooks? Homework?" Harry supplied. "Something your Nan asked you to do?"

"Your Chocolate Frogs?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Why would that be important, Ron?"

"Hey, it just glows red for 'something I forgot'! Doesn't mean it's important!"

"And of all things, you pick sweets?"

Ron mock glowered. "OI! Chocolate Frogs are bloody important, mate!"

"But you just said—!"

"—I know you lot are just trying to help, but I really can't concen—HEY!" Neville exclaimed when he felt the Remembrall slide off his hand, only to come face to face with a sneering Malfoy, with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

Just as Harry and Ron were about to jump up in Neville's defense, McGonagall had somehow silently apparated behind the Slytherin.

"What's going on here?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor." Neville answered quickly.

Said Slytherin dropped the ball on the table as if it burnt him. "Just looking."

"Funny," Ron said icily. "We didn't hear you asking if you could."

Malfoy glared at him, his lips tight, but knowing that he can't try anything around McGonagall, he and his goons merely stormed past the three.

"Thanks, Harry, Ron." Neville said softly. "Professor."

"Don't worry about it," answered Harry after their Head of House returned to the staff table.

"And besides, I've been looking for a chance to teach that pompous git a thing or too," added Ron, scowling at the memory of Malfoy prancing wherever he went, acting as if he owned the school and everyone in it. "He's been asking for it all week!"

The shy Gryffindor smiled. "You guys are the best friends ever!"

He knew Neville meant well, but those words made the lead ball in Ron's stomach grow heavier.

Half past three in the afternoon found the first year Gryffindors and Slytherins gathered on the grounds for their first flying lesson, in a smooth, flat lawn in perfect view of the dark, gnarly trees of the Forbidden Forest. Just like Ron remembered, it was a clear, breezy afternoon that was just right for flying.

Already on the sea of swaying grass were twenty school broomsticks, neatly queued up in five columns, as well as their teacher, Madam Hooch, arms crossed while her hawk yellow eyes regarded them with a hint of impatience. "Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone, stand by a broomstick!"

The Gryffindors and Slytherins hurried to do as they are told, Ron going for the spot between Neville and Hermione. The pathetic excuse of a broom aged rather badly, with some twigs frayed, bent and even missing. How in Avalon's name did Harry catch the Remembrall with this thing?

"All right, does everyone have a broom? Good. Now," the professor demonstrated. "Raise your right hand over your broom and say, UP!"

"UP!"

As expected, Harry's broom jumped onto his hand at once, as did Ron's. Hermione's rolled a bit but stayed flat, Ron noted. A quick scan on the Slytherin crowd showed Malfoy had also done it the first try (much to the red head's annoyance), as did a dark-skinned boy with a sharp buzz cut, a rather round nose and round brown eyes—Zabini, wasn't it? The last one to be sorted? —and a bulky-looking square faced girl with long russet hair that Ron couldn't remember the name of. From between the square faced girl and another, more petite one with light brown hair and doe-like sky blue eyes, Greengrass was glaring at her broomstick who was happy to remain on the ground.

To the time traveler's left, Neville stared at his two friends then back to his immobile broom. "Wow, how'd you guys do that?"

The red head remembered having to try it twice before the broom gave a response, and it certainly didn't fly that strongly into his hand. Must be because I'm so used to flying by now. At his friend's pleading look, Ron suggested, "Try saying it more confidently. The brooms react to how you call to it. It's not reacting because it can tell that you don't want to fly."

"Oh. Right, obviously." Neville took another breath. "UP!"

A few more tries later, with Harry and Ron coaching their friend, the broom finally flew up to the boy's outstretched hand.

"I did it!" Neville said, his face aglow with delight. "Thanks, Ron, Harry!"

Ron smiled faintly back, before glancing at Hermione, whose broom had progressed to rolling about but still staying on the grass.

"Hermione, try saying it a little—"

"I'm fine, Weasley." The girl cut him off, glaring at her broomstick. "I can do this on my own."

The red head frowned. "I was just trying to help."

"And I didn't ask for it." Hermione then shouted again. "UP!"

The broom went a bit sideways, but it did go to Hermione's hand in the end. She shot Ron a self-satisfied look before turning away.

Ron raised a brow, not remember Hermione being this particularly cross with him before. At least, during their first year. What's her problem?

Madam Hooch then proceeded to show the students how to mount their brooms properly, correcting their grips along the way. Harry and Ron traded smirks at Malfoy's heated exchange with the teacher when she told him that he had been riding and gripping his broom wrong for years, and that "all your father's galleons in the world cannot change a bloody thing about it!" The former's smile broadened when, after correcting Harry's grip, Hooch came to Ron only to find that there was little for her to change.

"I've been flying since I was six, Madam Hooch. And five older brothers to show me how it's done." Ron explained. And you already taught me all this stuff in the past.

"Trust me, Weasley, I've had many students come to me with home taught flying experience." She jerked a thumb at Malfoy's direction. "And only a few such as yourself are able to do it right. And you and Potter look very comfortable on the broom for first years. Maybe next year, you could try for your Quidditch team, if you're interested."

Harry smiled shyly at the compliment, making Ron shake his head in mirth. Bloody hell, Harry's too cute for his age! This has to be borderline illegal!

But when Madam Hooch returned to center of the class, Ron's good cheer dropped almost at once.

"Now," The hawk-eyed lady said. "When I blow my whistle, kick off the ground hard. You will float up. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then lean forward slightly to come back down. Everyone understood that?"

"Yes, Professor."

Ron's grip on his broom tightened, forcing himself to not look at Neville. This is it. Once Madam Hooch gives us the signal to fly, Neville will kick the ground too hard and end up falling. OK, Ron, you can do this. Just relax. Don't change anything anymore. Neville will be fine. Neville will be fine.

"On my whistle! Three—two—"

THUD!

A chorus of gasps went around Ron, who kept his gaze forward, knowing full well that Neville had kicked off before the whistle and was already floating away.

"Come back, boy!" He heard Madam Hooch call, but for some reason, Neville's cries were louder in his ears. "Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!"

Breathe in, Ron, breathe out. The boy's grip on his brooms was already digging on the wood. He'll be OK. You know he will. Just relax. It will only take a minute.

"Oh my, he's just shooting up!"

"Can't anyone stop him?"

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Aah!" But Neville kept going higher. "Someone, help! Please, I don't know how to stop this thing!"

Breathe in.

"No, no, no! He could fall! Neville, come back!" Hermione's worried prattle.

"Professor, shouldn't we—?"

"No, Potter, I will not risk another of you possibly—"

Breathe... Blue eyes flew open with a flash. Ah, Godric's pants!

"—Weasley?!" Ignoring Hooch's alarmed shouts, Ron deftly mounted his broom and shot up in the air.

"Woah!"

"Shite, look at him go!"

The cries of awe became fainter as Ron focused on only the feeling of flying and the white-faced Gryffindor floating fifteen feet high and counting.

"R—Ron!" Neville cried in relief when the other boy caught up to him. "Thank Merlin! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's OK, Neville, I'm here to help. Now," Ron held out his hand. "Lean forward a bit, just a little, point the handle to the ground and slowly come down."

"I—I can't—"

"Yes, you can!" The time traveler's voice hardened. "Don't faint on me now, Neville! Just do it!"

"I—"

"We're close to past twenty feet, mate!" They were already way above the Forbidden Forest's highest tree. "It's now or never! Come on!"

The chubby boy took a deep breath then did as he was told. The broom stopped its ascent and bucked in protest.

"AH!" The boy nearly fell off his broom.

"Hold on tight. Keep it pointed down!" Ron shouted sharply. "You can do this, Neville! I got you, mate!"

Nodding tearfully, the blond Gryffindor continued to follow Ron's instructions, and the pair slowly but surely went lower and lower.

I'm sorry, Harry. Ron thought sadly behind his small smile for Neville. I tried, but I can't let Neville get hurt again. If this hurts your chances to get into the Quidditch team, I—I'll find a way to make it up to you, I swear. But…

"—AH!"

"Huh?" Bugger, I lost my focus! "NEVILLE!"

Neville slid sideways off his broom, ten feet off the ground, and despite Ron's best attempts to catch him, he didn't react fast enough, causing the poor boy to fall flat on the ground.

Ron quickly pulled his broom up to a halt—ignoring the gasps coming from the other students—as he crouched to help his friend up. "Shite, Neville, I'm so sorry!"

"Out of the way, out of the way!" Hooch pushed past the crowd around the boys before bending over the sobbing dark haired Gryffindor.

"Broken wrist," Ron's heart sank at what he heard her mutter. "You'll be all right, boy. Come on, get up! Everyone, get back!"

The students parted like a circular wave as Hooch stood up, an arm around a sobbing Neville.

"None of you is to move while I take him to the hospital wing. Any of you who tries go," She shot a pointed look at Ron. "Will be out of Hogwarts before you can say, 'Quidditch!'"

Ron could only nod numbly and watch as Hooch led his friend away, his fists clenched hard. Fuck it all! Even after all that, I still failed to save Neville!

He then felt a hand thump on his back. Harry was beaming at him breathlessly. "Wow, mate, you didn't tell me you could fly like that! That was amazing!"

Ron was quick to shake his head. "Nothing special, Harry." Wait till you see yourself fly! "Fat load of good that did, though."

"It was an accident! If you hadn't helped Neville get lower, he could have gotten more than just a broken wrist." The black-haired boy said. "And nothing special, he says. That's not what most of us down here think!"

That's when Ron noticed that he was surrounded by Gryffindors.

"Excellent flying there, mate!" Seamus said merrily with a clap on Ron's back.

"That was so brave of you!" Lavender gushed.

"And a bloody waste if they don't let you join the Quidditch team after seeing you fly!"

"B—Bullocks! Don't be daft, Dean" Ron spluttered, his ears burning and head whirling in disbelief. No, not me! I'm not the one who should be put on the team! It should be Harry! He's practically the Dumbledore of flying! And besides, you guys should be worried more about Neville! He's the one with the broken wrist! And speaking of Neville, whatever happened to—?

"Look!" A flash of yellow entered Ron's periphery, making him turn to see Malfoy snatch something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's nan sent him!"

Neville's Remembrall glinted in the afternoon sun, and Ron's heart did a backflip.

Harry stepped forward, his eyes shining like glinting emeralds. "Give that here, Malfoy!"

In no time at all, the two rivals were on the air, just as how it was supposed to be.

Or, at least, most of it.

"HARRY POTTER!"

The cheers on Harry's excellent catch of Neville's Remembrall died a quick death when in came Professor McGonagall, nostrils flaring, brows furrowed and eyes wide.

"Never—!" She bit out breathlessly. "In all my time at Hogwarts—!"

The other Gryffindors immediately went to defend their housemate ("Please, professor, it wasn't his fault—!" "Malfoy, he started it!"), but Ron, for the first time in days, allowed himself to relax. Maybe it was because of his crazy luck, or maybe because some things are really meant to happen no matter what he did, but he's glad that despite the changes, Harry would still be part of the Quidditch team after all. He wished he could give his best friend more reassurance, seeing as how Harry had gone pale and almost shaky while still clutching the Remembrall….

"Potter, Weasley, follow me."

—wait, what? Ron's eyes flew to McGonagall's severe face in shock. Why me?

Harry looked just as confused as he and Ron met each other's gazes. But since both knew better than to question their Head of House, the boys ducked their heads and walked numbly after her.

"What in the world were you two thinking?!"

Oh, Ron realized, standing awkwardly next to Harry in one of the unused classrooms McGonagall took them to. Didn't think she'd hear about my spectacular fail at saving Neville so fast.

"Sorry, Professor," began Harry. "But Malfoy took our friend's Remembrall. I—I just wanted to get it back for him. It—flying after him sounded like a good idea—"

"One that could have broken you neck, Mr. Potter!" McGonagall then wheeled at Ron. "And you, Mr. Weasley! Taking off unsupervised by Madam Hooch! You're lucky you didn't end up with broken bones like Mr. Longbottom did!"

"And I wasn't going just stand and let my friend get hurt." Ron said honestly. "And I know it was stupid of me, and Neville got hurt anyway. How is he anyway?"

A bit of McGonagall's anger died down at his question. "He's with Madam Pomfrey at the moment. She managed to heal his wrist, and will most likely be released in time for supper, as I have heard. But this is not about him."

She pushed her glasses up. "It is commendable that you two are brave enough to stand up for your friends, but there is a difference between bravery and recklessness. Recklessness is the way of the foolish, and I expect my lions to know the difference between the two."

Ron's brows twitched. "I know I could have handled the situation better, but I'm not sorry for doing what I did!" Even if it would have meant Harry not getting into the team on their first year, Ron now realized. No matter the reason, he would never be able to let someone get hurt on his watch. Sacrificing chess pieces is one thing, but humans—his friends—were not mere pawns.

"And if something like that were to happen again, I would have done the same thing in a heartbeat. Because I'll never let my mates get hurt if I can help it." The boy then coughed. "And for the record, Professor, you have to admit, Harry is one mean flier! Would be a waste if he doesn't make it in the Quidditch team."

Both Harry and McGonagall were staring at him for a good minute, and Ron was becoming increasingly flustered. Double bullocks. Was it something he said again?

"Wait a moment here, you two." McGonagall finally said in a clipped tone before closing the classroom door behind her.

There was silence for a few second before Harry whispered, "Do you think this will get us expelled?"

Ron shook his head quickly. "No way, mate! I mean, not you," Because she's most likely off go get Wood and make you the new seeker. "Err, talking back at her was probably not the best idea I've had in a while."

"I don't know. Most of your ideas are usually brilliant," said Harry.

"First time I've heard it that way."

"And if you think Professor McGonagall won't get me expelled, I'm sure you won't be too." Harry added. "And I meant to say this earlier, but what you did for Neville, that was really great. More than your flying."

"Nah, you would have done the same for us, Harry."

"I think you forgot the part where I just stood there watching you do the work."

Ron shrugged. "And you went after Neville's Remembrall and showed Malfoy. Stop selling yourself short."

"I could say the same for you," retorted Harry.

"All part of being the sidekick, Harry. You still have a lot to learn."

The door opened again. McGonagall had returned with a surprised Oliver Wood in tow. Ron had to fight the urge to grin.

"Potter, Weasley, this is Oliver Wood." She said briskly. "Wood, I've found you a Seeker."

"A what?" Harry whispered questioningly as Wood's expression morphed into that of a child's who heard that the holidays came early.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely. Potter's a natural, unlike anything I have ever seen. It was your first time on a broom, wasn't it, Potter?"

Said boy nodded slowly, and while McGonagall continued to detail Harry's amazing catch with the Remembrall, Ron clapped a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Congrats, mate, I think they just made you part of the Quidditch team!"

Wonder made Harry's eyes glow. "Really? But I thought—"

"They're obviously making an exception. Wood's the current Gryffindor team captain."

"Ever seen a Quidditch game, Potter?" The fifth year said excitedly. When Harry said no, Wood studied the younger boy carefully. "Looks built to be one, too. They ought to be light but sturdy. We'll have to get him a good broom though. There aren't any spare ones good enough for a Seeker."

"I'll have a word with Professor Dumbledore, see if we can bend the first-year rule."

Harry turned to Ron again. "I'm not…dreaming, am I?"

"I can pinch you if you want."

"And what about Weasley here?" Ron turned sharply when he heard Wood mention him.

"Bending the rules for Potter will be hard enough. I doubt we can do the same for Weasley." McGonagall sounded frustrated. "But from what Rolanda has told me, the boy is just as good in flying as Potter is. Maybe next year, he could be your reserve Chaser or Keeper. There's no one in your team who can take your post once you graduate, isn't that right?"

Wood's scrutinizing gaze went to Ron this time. "Hmm, lanky one, sturdy looking. You play Quidditch with your brothers, right? What position do you usually play?"

"Keeper, usually. Sometimes the Chaser." Ron answered. "But I, err, I always fancied myself a Keeper more."

Wood smiled broadly. "Can I take Weasley with me when I teach Potter the ropes, see what they can both do?"

"Of course. Now," McGonagall peered sternly at Harry and Ron from behind her square spectacles. "Do not speak any of this to you peers, understood? We do not want the word out, at least until I get the confirmation from Professor Dumbledore. And Potter, once you make it in the team, I expect you to practice and train hard." The aged woman sniffed quite indignantly. "Flattened by Slytherin in the last match. I couldn't look at Severus for weeks…!"

Then she smiled. "Your father, James, would have been proud. He was one of the best Chasers Gryffindor has ever had."

Just like every other time someone would mention his parents, Harry went misty eyed. "Really?"

"And a fine Quidditch captain, if I may add. Now," McGonagall nodded to Wood. "Wood will like to talk to you a bit more, arrange a schedule for your next meeting, and then you're free to leave, Potter."

Ron blinked. "Err, what about me, Professor?"

"Not just yet, Weasley." The woman inclined her head to Wood and Harry. "You two may go."

Harry looked like he was about to protest, eyeing Ron worriedly so the red head nodded reassuringly. "I'll see you at dinner, Harry."

After Wood led the reluctant younger boy away, McGonagall turned to Ron.

"Am I still in trouble?"

"Remember what I told you? About bravery and recklessness being two different things?" Said McGonagall. "You are a brilliant boy, Weasley, and most of my fellow professors spoke highly of you. Irma has even spoke of how often she has seen you in the library so early in the year, reading on higher year text."

It took Ron a second to understand who McGonagall was referring to. "Madam Pince? I always thought she hated me."

McGonagall's lips twitched. "She does give fair assessment where it is due, and she said that you were bright for a first year. But also, stubborn and should be more mindful around authority."

Now that sounds more like her, thought Ron.

"The point I wish to make is that you have the potential to go far, Weasley. I understand the need to jump in defense of your friends, but you must choose your battles carefully." The professor went on. "This is a small incident, and fortunately, no one was severely hurt. But there might come a time when you will need to think before you leap."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "So you're saying I should let my friends get hurt?"

"Far from it. However, you should not let your desire to help them cloud your judgement." McGonagall's eyes darkened slightly. "I pray you will never have to face a situation where you will have to, but there are instances that sacrifices must be made. No matter how hard you may wish it, the truth is that there are times when you cannot save everyone."

Cold dread enveloped the time traveler for a moment before frowning. "But I can bloody well try. Life is not a chess game, and no one's a bloody pawn!"

McGonagall appeared taken aback by his sharp rebuke, and then Ron realized that no eleven-year-old should have been able to think that. "Ah, sorry, professor. Just got caught up. I shouldn't have talked back like that. Just, uh…" He racked his brains. "I just don't like the thought of letting my friends and family getting hurt because I let them. Sorry."

"…You play chess, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron blinked. "Err, yeah. Kind of a Weasley tradition, really."

McGonagall smiled at him. "I would like to see you play someday, if you have the time." She then gestured at the door. "All right, you are free to go."

"Huh? I am?"

"But keep what I said in mind, Mr. Weasley. Someday, when you are older, you will understand what I mean."

Ron could only nod bemusedly, but before closing the door, McGonagall called to him again.

"You're not only brilliant but also a good child, Mr. Weasley," said the Transfiguration professor. "However, do try not to play the hero all the time?"

"…Yes, Professor." Ron answered easily, because it wasn't his job to be the hero. He was the side character, whose job is to support Harry and to help his best friend in the fight against Voldemort when the right time came. It just so happened that he was also on a mission to save lives and change the future for the better, but that doesn't change his lot in life.

Ronald Bilius Weasley— the sidekick, the unremarkable, the insignificant, just another Weasley. Eternally overshadowed by his brilliant and talented best friends.

And if it meant keeping all his friends and loved ones safe, then he was honestly fine with that.

(Besides, everyone will know soon enough that it's Harry who has the hero complex.)

"Ron, there you are!"

"Hullo, Neville, Harry." Ron greeted his friends when they met up in the Great Hall. "Nice to see your arm better, Neville. And," he scratched his head. "Sorry about letting you fall. That was a bugger move on my part."

The Longbottom shook his head. "Don't be daft, Ron. I should be thanking you! If it weren't for you, I could have had worse!"

No, you wouldn't have. Ron groaned to himself, but because he couldn't tell how he knew just that, he just nodded instead. It was then that he noticed Harry's pensive expression, which was unusual considering what happened earlier. "What's with you, Harry?"

"…I may have done something stupid."

Ron looked to Neville for details, who looked flustered. "I'm so sorry, Harry—"

"No, Neville, it's not your fault. It's all on Malfoy." Harry's eyes narrowed angrily. "He just couldn't have enough of being an arse."

"What happened?"

"For some reason, we ran into Malfoy and his goons after Neville and I left the Hospital Wing. Malfoy was being a prat, as usual, taunting me about my so-called expulsion, calling Neville stupid and you being a showoff to take everyone's minds off you being poor."

The time traveler clenched his fists. "Why that insufferable ponce!"

"And then he suddenly challenges me to a wizard's duel, like I'm supposed to know what that means. And I—" Harry shook his head. "I just got so angry at him, especially when he said that I'd have to settle for Neville as my second because you weren't around. And I just, reacted."

"…You said you would duel him, didn't you?"

"Trophy room, around midnight." Neville said quietly. "But I have a bad feeling about this, Harry."

"Well, I'm not letting that prat go thinking he's gotten the best of us." The green-eyed boy said angrily.

"Uh, Harry, remember what McGonagall said before," Ron tried. "About the difference between being brave and being reckless?"

Harry frowned. "Too late for that, mate. I already said yes, and I can't back down or else Malfoy will hold it over our heads forever."

Neville groaned. "How do you even know he's going to show up?"

"How do we know he won't?"

Ron massaged his temples, knowing very well how this will end. But it's not like Harry would have found out about the trap door any other way, would he? And it looked like Harry wanted to keep his word no matter what, despite Ron's and Neville's protests.

Perhaps some things are really just meant to happen.

Besides, Ron consoled himself. At least no one got hurt this time too. If you don't count being traumatized by a three-headed dog.

Argh, keeping up with HP canon and lore is so hard, especially without a beta. Just when I thought I have everything factchecked, something slips past my radar again. (T_T) Good thing I have awesome readers to help me by pointing out what I miss. And I do consider your comments so don't hesitate to give me feedback. Helpful tips are always very much welcome.

Notes:

- The concept of Lecturers in Hogwarts was inspired by the fanfic series The Chessmaster by Flye Autumne featuring the Golden Trio in Slytherin, and the highs and lows of Noble Houses political intrigue. IRL, Lecturer is the title held by college and university level teachers who are in the early stages of their academic career. An overly simple way to put it is that all undergraduate level teachers begin as lecturers then rise in the ranks as they gain experience, further education, etc. until they become qualified for the highest academe rank of Professor.

- After some research and a bit of planning, this is what I imagine a typical Hogwarts school day routine will be like: from Mondays to Fridays, classes start at 9 AM until quarter to 11. Classes resume after lunch at 1 PM, with the school day ending at 4 or 5 PM. Students have the whole days off on Saturdays and Sundays. Daily mealtime schedules are 6 to 8:30 AM for breakfast, 12 to 1 PM for lunch, and 6 to 8 PM for supper. Curfew for first year and second year students is at 8 PM while for third year and above, curfew is at 9; and for all year levels, curfew ends at 5 AM. Makes sense?

- It's not mentioned in canon that Cedric and Ron had a friendship of sorts prior to Hogwarts, but seeing that Arthur and Amos were friends, it's possible that their kids may have met at a few times for playdates and such. As to why they didn't speak to each other during Harry's fourth year in canon, childhood friends can drift apart, even without Hogwarts divisive House system. Happens a lot in real life.

UP NEXT:
In a word, Halloween. In two words, a troll. In three words (and a contraction), Ron's in trouble. Sorry, Ron, but your days of being unremarkable are nearly over. 

Chapter Text

Thanks To:

- StarsandSunkissed for pointing out some typos.

- Kyu9930 for their feedback regarding the one fic vs. multiple fics for TBA.

To all my lovely reviewers! You're all so awesome! I can't even—! *faints*

Chapter Seven:

The Hogwarts Study Clubs

The following morning saw Harry, Neville and Ron a bit tired but perfectly cheerful, much to a certain blond Slytherin's utter disbelief.

Despite its different start, the midnight duel went mostly the same way: Harry, Ron and Neville sneaking out to head to the trophy room; Hermione catching and trying to stop them; Malfoy not showing up and tipping off Filch; running into Peeves then escaping into the Forbidden Corridor; a face-to-face encounter with Fluffy; Hermione leaving in a huff after mentioning the trap door.

It was bloody satisfying to see Malfoy's shocked face the second time around when he saw them the following morning, as well as seeing Harry's gleeful expression when he received his not-so-discreetly-wrapped Nimbus Two Thousand the following week.

Wood then invited Harry and Ron to the pitch the very night Harry got his broom for a quick rundown. He helped the Quidditch team captain teach Harry the basics of the game (by help, Ron meant that he was the one who had to wrestle the bludger back into its case). And after witnessing his best friend demonstrate to Wood exactly why he should be called the Albus Dumbledore of flying, the fifth year handed Ron a broom.

"Up you get, Weasley." Wood said after mounting his own broom, quaffle in hand. "Your turn to show me what you can do."

Wood first had Ron play as a Chaser and himself being the Keeper. It was then that Ron found how brilliant of a Keeper Wood really was—the guy was like a flashing red whirlwind covering all three hoop posts. Despite Ron's best efforts, he could only shoot three out of the fifteen attempts he made.

Afterwards, Wood made them switch positions, and then Ron felt like he was finally in his element. Ron always liked it best whenever he played the Keeper when helping Charlie or the twins. It showed when he managed to block eight out of Wood's twelve shots. Granted, Ron felt his moves were sloppier than he remembered, and he felt that he could have reacted faster at times.

Now that was a bit concerning. Perhaps his reflexes were out of practice too? He'll need to find a way to work on that.

Wood, however, looked positively gleeful. "You're a natural Keeper, Weasley! It's too bad we couldn't have you on the team now, or I would have made you my reserve straight away!"

Ron's ears flushed at the compliment, but he privately thought that it was a good thing that he didn't make the team. Because, after some consideration post the run-in with Fluffy, the boy decided to give Cedric's invite a try.

It was on the Saturday after their first flying lesson that Ron finally decided to show up on the Ancient Runes study club, awkwardly asking for Cedric. The third year Hufflepuff had been delighted.

"Hey, Ron, you made it!" Cedric clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the rest of the club! They've been wanting to meet you!"

"What? Why would they—?"

"Because he has only been talking about you everyday, for the past week," someone in front of him answered. Ron pivoted his gaze to the speaker, a short figure with wild silver hair tied away from his long face, a long hooked nose, and dressed in strange but obviously well-made robes.

"Ron, this is Professor Hui, the Lecturer in charge of the Ancient Runes study club," said Cedric.

"Always the look of surprise when a student sees me for the first time." The creature smiled kindly before holding out a hand to shake. "Lecturer Hui, Mr. Weasley. A pleasure to meet you."

A polite goblin? Really? It took Ron's brain a second to catch up to his bewilderment. "Err, Ron Weasley, Professor Hui. Nice to meet you too."

Ron took a look around to see that, while the classroom was not full, there were more than what he initially expected. He could recognize some of the students, like Cho Chang and his fellow First years: a Hufflepuff that he remembered as Amelia Bones' niece, Zabini and another Slytherin whose face is oddly familiar.

Since the two Slytherins were on the table closest to him (and since Cedric was sitting with Cho and another Hufflepuff girl), Ron slid next to them. "Mind if I sit here?"

Zabini raised a brow while the other boy answered. "You already have, Weasley."

"And you guys are?"

The Slytherins shared a look before eyeing Ron calculatingly. The red head audibly sighed. "Well, I can't keep calling you Slytherin one and two, can I?"

The dark skinned Slytherin answered first. "Blaise Zabini."

"…Theodore Nott."

Nott. Ron's eyes widened in recognition. He's one of those Death Eaters back in the Department of Mysteries! This is his son?

Nott scowled. "If you're just going to gape like a fool, there are plenty other tables. No one asked you to sit here to begin with."

Ron's ear burned as he spluttered, "Oi, no need to be rude! I didn't mean anything by—!"

"Of course you don't. No one does whenever they stare at the son of an accused Death Eater." Nott said icily. "Especially if they're a Gryffindor."

"Theo, enough. Class is starting," said Zabini, but his eyes on Ron were just as cold. "If you're going to get us in trouble, Weasley, you better sit somewhere else."

"I'm not—!" Ron clenched his jaw before taking a deep breath. "I'm not here to cause any trouble, Zabini, but I can sit wherever I want."

The appraising look was back on Zabini's gaze. "Stay out of our way, Weasley, and we'll stay out of yours."

No more was exchanged between Ron and the Slytherins, but the time traveler was internally fuming. What the hell is up their arses? So maybe my staring was uncalled for, but I didn't mean anything bad by it! Why is it that these snakes look like they're readying for a fight whenever they run into a Gryffindor?

But true to their word, Zabini and Nott left him alone throughout the class, giving the Gryffindor time to focus on the lecture.

"For the benefit our new members, the Study of Ancient Runes is your first step on your journey to learn more about the mystical field of Runology. Runes have existed for far longer than any of us in this classroom" Hui began. "It was first used by the Anglo-Saxons, Germanic and the Norse over three thousand years ago, and have been known for their magical and divining properties."

Unlike the other goblins Ron had met, Hui was surprisingly lighthearted and engaging, eagerly sharing his knowledge of Ancient Runes while encouraging everyone to participate. The boy had forgotten for a minute that Hui was only the Lecturer for the subject and not the Professor (which was too bad. Nothing against whoever the Professor was, but Hui was really good at his stuff and sharing it to the class!)

On the other hand, the Arithmancy study club was taught by Professor Durand, a strict but smart looking brunette dressed in sharp mauve robes and thin square glasses in front of her eyes so brown they were almost wine red.

"Always happy to welcome new students on board, Mr. Weasley," said Durand after Cedric introduced Ron. "Though a fair warning, this may not have a direct impact on your scholastic performance, but should you wish to continue attendance, I will expect nothing short of your best. Take this subject seriously, and it will take you places, enable new discoveries and stretch the limits of your perception of magic. But this will require focus and dedication, as Arithmancy is one of, if not the most challenging, branches of magic."

Challenging was definitely the word for this subject. Small wonder Hermione loved this stuff so much! Like Hui, Durand begun her lecture with a brief introduction on Arithmancy.

"Arithmancy, for those unfamiliar with the subject, is the study of the magical properties of numbers and its application in numerology. Now, most wizards will not be able to appreciate diagrams like these," Durand presented them with a rather complicated array of numbers and figures. "But an arithmancer finds beauty in how these numbers function in relation to each other, and how the causes and effects contained in this array produce the desirable effect in the form of a spell. This, for example, is the arithmetical basis for the spell, Lumos, the wand lighting charm."

Ron's eyes nearly jumped out of his head. Bloody hell, something that complicated is just for a spell as simple as Lumos?! He was almost afraid to imagine what the diagram for Expecto Patronum would look like.

"But more than just studying the relationships of these numbers and the resulting spell, arithmancers are meant to use their knowledge to push the limitations of the diagram, modify certain aspects of it, to create more powerful versions, eliminate or reduce impact of weaknesses, or even create a new spell entirely. These changes will be reflected in wand movement and on the incantation."

Durand then waved her wand on a top section of the Lumos diagram, changing some of the numbers and angles in the process. "Now the previous diagram is the guide for casting a traditional Lumos. Like so," She waved her wand again, which produced a small white ball of light at the end. "But the changes I made in this diagram, which also changes the wand movement involved," The brunette witch moved her wand again, but instead of a slow circular wave, she moved the wood in a faster circle and a sharp jab up. "Lumos!"

And instead of a ball of light, the charm formed a glowing shape similar to a candle flame, much to the Ron's awe.

"Now this is just a cosmetic change, mind you. There are many other ways you can tweak a spell if you know which part of the formula to change. That is why there are several variations of the wand lighting charm, such as Lumos Solem or Lumos Luna. But be cautious—changing the wrong part of the diagram or a wrong computation can cause the spell to either not work properly or do something entirely different. This is the reason why wand movement and incantation are just as important in spell work as is the caster's focus and imagination." Durand concluded. "Creativity is only beneficial if it is given direction."

Naturally, Durand had her own homework assigned for all the club members, a sheet of migraine-inducing equations they needed to finish before their next meeting. But at least he wouldn't have to deal with these migraines alone.

"Hello, Ron! Oh, is it OK if I call you Ron?" The Ravenclaw girl he had been sitting with in the second row said. Like Cho, she was of obvious Chinese descent, with olive skin, shoulder length straight black hair and slanted brown eyes. "Nice to see a fellow first year in this club. I'm Sue, Sue Li."

"It's OK, Sue. Are we the only first years here?"

"As of now, yes, though hopefully I'll be able to convince some of my year mates to come. Arithmancy is such a fascinating subject, don't you think?" Sue pulled out Numerology and Grammatica from her bag. "I've been reading over it all summer before Hogwarts—my mother was an Arithmancer—but to see it in action like this is amazing! The other applications of Arithmancy are interesting of course. In my other book, Numbers for the Eye in You, it delves right into the use of numbers for predicting things like the weather and—"

The way the girl eagerly told him of the books she had read and her love for Arithmancy reminded Ron so much of Hermione that it hurt. Appearances aside, she was just like his beloved friend, only friendlier and, honestly, less sounding like a know-it-all and more of an excitable nerd.

"—ah! I'm so sorry, have I talked your ear off? Baba always said I tend to talk too much."

"Err, what's a baba?"

Sue blushed. "Sorry. I meant Dad. Baba is dad in Chinese."

The red head nodded in interest. "You're a bilingual? That's wicked! I bet not a lot of first years know a second language!"

The Ravenclaw's blush darkened. "Baba said that just because we live in Scotland doesn't mean we should forget about where we came from. I've been learning Chinese since the day I could talk. It's a very complicated language, but I love it all the same. It's like always having a small piece of home with me."

Ron paused thoughtfully. "Are there other Chinese here in Hogwarts you can talk to? There's a Ravenclaw in the Ancient Runes club, Chang."

Sue nodded. "She knows a little, but she wants to learn more and has asked for my help…" She bit her lip. "Although I'm not sure I'm a very good teacher. And I don't want to come off as boring or overwhelming…"

"Like what I always tell my friends, you'll never know until you try." Ron said. "Hey, maybe you can try teaching me a bit and we'll see what you can work on."

"Really? You'd do that?"

"I get to learn a little Chinese, you get to be more used to teaching. Why won't I?" Ron then coughed. "And, I might need your help on some other things. I think Arithmancy is cool, but I might be bullocks at it. Not that I'm saying I'll be copying off of you or anything. I really want to learn this stuff, but some just look way over my head!"

Sue giggled. "I'll try, but if you find me too hard to understand, you can also ask Penny for help. She's a member of this club too, but she sometimes misses some meetings. She's the Ravenclaw Prefect, actually."

"Penny?" Ron echoed. "You mean Penelope Clearwater?"

Sue looked pleasantly surprised. "You know Penny?"

Ron shrugged easily. "Might have heard about her from my brother, Percy. He's the Gryffindor Prefect."

Sue wasn't the only one who offered Ron help for the clubs. Cedric had given Ron a copy of the schedule of the club's weekly meetings and their assigned rooms in the School.

"They don't usually change things around here, but in case they do, the Lecturers always pass the information to the club's student representative." Cedric told him. "I'm the representative for Ancient Runes, for example. Pucey's the representative for Arithmancy."

"Who's he?"

"The only Slytherin in the Arithmancy club, and is also one of the Slytherin team's chasers. Good bloke, that one, only a bit too quiet. He's one of the few I know in the Slytherin team who has never committed a foul." Cedric frowned slightly. "Which is more than I can say for their captain, Flint."

According to the parchment, the study clubs available are for the core subjects, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Alchemy and Divination. Cedric himself was a member of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes club, but was also looking into rejoining Potions. Ron thought about joining Potions as well, if only to encourage Neville, who was also interested but too nervous to go by himself. Harry also sounded interested in the study club thing, but with Wood driving Gryffindor's new seeker to the ground, could he still find the time?

Ron then remembered the pile of parchment waiting for him at the dorm.

"Maybe I should start with sorting out all of that homework first..."

For the following weeks, Ron spent the rest of his free time juggling his extra readings, his study clubs and spending time with his friends. The books he had been borrowing on advanced year material were a welcome refresher, and his activities in the study clubs were opening his mind to new knowledge and ways of thinking when it came to magic.

Professor Hui helped them memorize the runic alphabet sets bit by bit while teaching them some basic rune formation layouts then having them cast basic forms. One of their first attempts being an assembly of runes mean to heat up a specific space, which would have been mighty useful during the Horcrux hunt.

"Now, remember the Elder Futhark runes you should write on the stones." Hui raised a small square stone tablet, identical to the samples the club members have on their desks. "Kaunan, Eihwaz, Algiz, Salamander in diamond formation starting with Kaunan at the west."

Rune casting, it turns out, entailed more than simply drawing the right runes then placing them in the right formations. Ron had to draw the rune in a specific fashion, know the meaning of the rune, and envision it doing its purpose all throughout the process of drawing and casting. One of his clubmates—a Hufflepuff named Beatrice Haywood—found out the hard way when she used Ehwaz instead of Eihwaz for their practical, causing the whole table to heat up instead of just within the diamond.

The time traveler, however, found that he actually had a knack for it, finding that the runes came to him fairly easily enough.

But as for the Arithmancy study club, their sessions were more theoretical in nature. And unlike in Ancient Runes, Ron admittedly struggled with the numbers, and would sometimes interchange the rigid, intricate rules of solving the equation. Thankfully, his seatmates have him covered.

"These are parallel lines." Sue explained to him during one of their test sessions. "And to find the equation of the line in this example, we need to use the point slope linear equation formula y − y1 = m (x − x1). First, we solve for the slope of the first problem, then substitute the slope of the first problem to the—"

"Bloody hell, how many rules do I have to remember for this?! And this is just a freaking linear equation!" Ron felt like tearing his hair out until he saw Sue's worried expression. "Sorry, Sue, I didn't mean to take it out on you."

Sue smiled kindly. "It's OK, Ron. Arithmancy can get really complicated for beginners. But looking at your work, you almost got the right answer! You just need to get used to this."

"Sue's right," added a voice to Sue's left. "And don't forget that when you transpose a number to the other side, it is automatically converted into the opposite integer. So your -4 here should be a +4."

"Shite, why do I keep forgetting that?" Ron scratched the wrong numbers out with his parchment. "Thanks, Clear—err, Penny."

Penelope Clearwater smiled brightly at him. "No problem, Ron."

The first time Ron had met Penelope in class, she was very kind and friendly to him, insisting that she called him 'Penny' like Sue and offering to help him with their homework. Sue had teased him a bit for staring at Penny a few times ("I think someone has a crush!"). Ron couldn't tell his new friend that it was because the last time he had seen the blonde Prefect, she was bathed in her own blood from under a knight's blade.

It took a week, but the eighteen-turned-eleven found his footing with the additional study clubs and was now finding the experience rather enjoyable despite being mentally drained afterwards. It not only helped him improve his knowledge and skills but also helped him build new friendships that Ron thought in hindsight would be helpful to Harry in the future. His club mates have been asking about Harry every now and then, and Ron made sure to put a good word for his best mate whenever he could. There, maybe now they won't turn against him so easily in the future.

His classes, too, were going mostly all right. He made intentional blunders every now and then, but he still performed well in almost all his subjects, netting in more points for Gryffindor than he recalled ever having back in his first life. He hadn't meant to stand out so much, preferring to let Hermione answer as much of the questions as she wanted, but for some reason, his professors—especially his Head of House—made it a point to call him out a few times during class. Even Snape had been in on it, and it ended up with the most heated question and answer exchange ever in the first year's memory.

("What do I get when I combine stewed mandrake, infusion of wormwood, and scurvy grass?"

"Missing a lot of other ingredients, but I'd say Invigorating Draught, sir."

"…And what of Bicorn horn and Mandrake root?"

"Pepper-Up potion. But I'm pretty sure this and the Invigorating Draught are at least OWL-level, so why do you expect me to know?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Weasley!"

Ron would have fired another witty retort at the glowering Professor, but then Harry swiftly kicked him in the shin.)

That made the youngest Weasley boy more determined than ever to earn top marks in Potions, so it was a very good thing that Greengrass—who was set to be his partner for the rest of the year—was just as invested in getting a good grade in Potions, and, unlike Nott and Zabini, was not under the impression that Ron was looking for an excuse to hex her.

Overall, it had been a several weeks for Ron.

But sadly, it wasn't entirely without a couple of downers, first and foremost being the one known as Hermione Jean Granger.

Something else Ron noticed was that, after that midnight disaster, Hermione had been giving Harry and Neville the cold shoulder. But Ron? He was getting the cold shoulder with ice spikes laden with acid.

It was driving him barmy just how much harsher Hermione was with him than he remembered her being during first year. When he tried to apologize to her for almost getting her in trouble the following morning, she had sent him a glare that made the dungeons a desert in comparison. "Oh, right, and just what good is your apology had I been expelled?"

Ron sputtered in confusion. "But you're—we're—no one's been expelled, Hermione."

"Because that makes it all the better, doesn't it, Weasley?" Snapped Hermione before hurriedly brushing past him.

What had he done to make Hermione this angry at him? All this time, he had been trying to be her friend. But every time, she'd always be snappish and sensitive like a cornered kneazle. She'd avoid being within arm's length of him unless she had to. Hell, every time he'd initiate a conversation with her, she would rebuff him with a "What do you want, Weasley?"

He'd been so bothered by it that he ended up asking his friends for advice.

Harry was less than helpful about it. "Granger's been so horrid to you, Ron! There's nothing to like about her in the first place! I don't know why you keep trying to be friends with her!"

"That's not true! You remember what she was like on the train, right, Harry, Neville? I'm sure she's plenty nice underneath all her smarts. We just need to get to know her better!"

"I thought so too. But then there's only so much of her badmouthing one of my best mates that I can handle," said Harry darkly. And if it weren't for the topic on hand, Ron would have been delighted at Harry acknowledging him and Neville as his best friends for the first time in this timeline.

Thankfully, the red head's other best mate had been more forthcoming. "Honestly, Ron? I think it's because she's, err, jealous of you."

"Jealous? Of me?" Ron repeated incredulously. "How? Why?"

"For one thing, you're one of the runners for the top student of the year." Neville explained slowly, as if talking to an agitated child. "You've seen how Hermione's like. She's very smart and she takes her studies very seriously. It's obvious she sees you as competition." The dark-haired boy paused. "No, scratch that, she thinks you're a threat."

Ron rubbed his face. "How many times do I have to say it? I'm not—"

"Like it or not, mate, you're one of the best students of our year," reasoned Neville. "Especially during the practical parts. And don't think I haven't seen your essays! You never got anything below an EE, even in Potions. Potions, Ron, from Snape!"

Now that Ron found utterly ridiculous. True, he was studying harder this time, only because it was necessary for his mission. He had been reading a lot in order to review his basics and learn new spells. He had been doing his homework as soon as he could in order to have more time for his extra readings. He had been writing more in his essays because he knew enough to write more than he used to. He could do first-year spells almost flawlessly—no thanks to the temperamental stick that is Charlie's old wand—because he was already in the process of remastering the third-year level ones he knew.

And the only reason he was anywhere near the top ten percent of the first-year student body was thanks to his unfair advantage in experience. He was a seventh-year student! It would downright embarrassing if first-year courses will make him struggle! That's why he had to do extra readings and take the extra study clubs in order to keep learning new ways to do magic!

However, his steadily improving magical abilities also brought about his second problem: Charlie's wand not cooperating with him again, making Ron's spells either weaker or stronger than intended. During one Transfiguration class, when they had to transfigure parchment into wood, Ron's first two attempts only made the edges, then the whole parchment, acquire a wood-like appearance. Infuriated that he was genuinely struggling with a first-year spell, Ron did the incantation a little too strongly, causing the parchment to jet up before landing on his head with a hard clap, the paper having turned into wood somewhere down the tumble.

"There's no need to take it out on your parchment if you are unable to do it the first time, Mr. Weasley." McGonagall had reprimanded him lightly, much the boy's embarrassment. But because Ron was still the first one two turn his parchment into wood, he got five points for his effort.

He didn't understand, though. Back at the Burrow, Ron thought he had gotten this problem under control. He had been casting fifth year level spells pretty well at that point, so Ron was at a loss on what went wrong.

Maybe I need to practice more again. I have been doing more magic lately, with my extra classes and all. Ron surmised. But where do I practice without people seeing me? I wouldn't know how to explain why I know the spells I know, especially the ones I had to use during the war.

He hadn't been able to think too hard on it, though, because the week after came that Charms lesson on Wingardium Leviosa.

If looks could kill, Ron would have been back at that chessboard with Death and Snape a hundred times over.

Of course he still gets paired up with Hermione during Charms. Of course Hermione was still rather cross with him. If It was getting a kick out of making Ron's life miserable, this had better be worth the torture!

"So, err, want to get started?" Ron asked carefully while pointing at the feather.

Hermione's gaze sharpened as she drew her wand. "Fine, we'll take turns trying to levitate the feather. I'll go on ahead."

Ron shrugged easily, fully intending to let her actually be able to do the charm right first. After a bit of snap thinking, he felt that it was the best course of action. Hermione was competitive and smart, so maybe if he showed her that she was better than him in something (in everything, actually), then hopefully she'll ease up the hostilities.

Maybe this is why Charlie's old wand was supposed to act up. Ron thought optimistically. Maybe it's so that I won't outperform Hermione for this moment and then I'll have a chance to fix things with her.

It took them a few alternating tries, with him making sure to gradually correct his movement and incantation to make it look like he was progressing, until Hermione let out a happy cry when her feather floated slowly into the sky.

"Excellent work, Ms. Granger!" Flitwick said over the class' excited chatter upon witnessing Hermione's successful casting. "Take five points for Gryffindor for your excellent charm work!"

"Great work, Hermione!" Ron said sincerely after his seatmate had quieted in her cheering.

The bushy haired girl appeared taken aback by his comment before saying, "It's your turn."

"Right." This time, Ron tried to seriously cast the spell. Even then, it took two more tries (and at one point, it felt like his fingers were being pricked by the wand) before the feather too floated away. "Hey, I did it."

"…Well, it was about time anyway." Hermione said haughtily after Flitwick gave Ron two points for his own work.

The red head just shrugged the comment off before taking a look around the classroom for his friends.

Harry, who was paired with Seamus, looked close to succeeding with his own feather; but Neville and Dean right next to him were both obviously struggling with theirs. Deciding that it was a better way to spend his time, Ron turned to the pair. "Need any help, mates?"

"Yes, please, Ron. Bloody feather just won't budge no matter what we do," said Dean while Neville nodded vigorously.

The time traveler laughed. "It's not as hard as you guys think. First, I heard you pronouncing it wrong. It's 'wing-gar-dium levi-o-sa', not 'leviosa'. Emphasis on the 'o' in the middle and making the 'gar' nice and long are very important. With me so far?"

Dean and Neville spent some time practicing the incantation until Ron, satisfied, brought up his own wand.

"Great job! Now that you got the incantation, the next is wand movement."

"Yeah, I remember that." Neville said. "Swish and flick, like this right?"

Ron noted the movement of his friend's wand before shaking his head. "Almost got it. Just need to make it sharper near the end. It's what will direct your magic to pull the feather upwards." (Turns out Ron did learn something in Arithmancy. Wicked!) "Here, I'll demonstrate the movement without the incantation so you can see."

The boy waved his wand in the correct pattern. He felt a bit of his magic course through his arm, but didn't think too much of it, turning to Neville and Dean halfway to see if they got the movement. "You guys think you can do it?"

But instead of comprehension or even confusion, the two Gryffindor boys' jaws were slack with shock.

He raised a brow. "What?"

It was Neville who pointed with a shaky finger. "R—Ron, look."

Ron turned to the direction his friend pointed, and what he saw made his heart drop to his feet. What the fuck?!

"Ha, splendid! Splendid!" From the front row, Flitwick was clapping his hands excitedly. "Did you see that, class? Mr. Weasley had just demonstrated how to cast Wingardium Leviosa wordlessly!"

WHAT. THE. FUCK?! Ron's eyes frantically darted from his wand to Neville's feather innocently floating to the sky. No. No, no, no, no, that's not supposed to happen! He wasn't even focusing on levitating the fucking feather, just doing the right movement for his friends! He realized now that he should have taken that bit of magic that escaped him more seriously!

"Professor, I—I don't even know what happened! I wasn't even trying to—!"

"Wordless casting is very difficult for a first year to do, as it takes strong familiarity with the way the spell is cast and how it works to be able to do so. But if one studies enough, and has had enough practice, then casting the spell becomes such second nature that you can do so non-verbally or with very little magic!" Flitwick explained excitedly. "I have seen only a handful of first years accomplish this over the years, and it is always an exciting thing to witness every time! Not a surprise that you would be one of them, given your performance in my class."

No, that's because I'm a seventh year who's so used to doing first year spells—!

"Now take fifteen points to Gryffindor for your above average charmwork, Mr. Weasley!" Flitwick finished with a beam.

Ron was sorely tempted to disapparate from the classroom because of the whispers that exploded around him. Mother of Arthur Pendragon, somebody kill me! Or chuck this stupid wand away before I snap it in half! Little piece of shite, how could you do this to me?!

He caught sight of Hermione's gaze on him, eyes ablaze and face a furious pink.

Grindelwald's sagging balls!

"Hermione! Oi, Hermione!"

As soon as class was dismissed, Ron immediately went to Hermione, but the girl had quickly left the classroom. By the time Ron had found her, she was storming past the first years, hefting a heavy book under her arms, not stopping despite Ron calling out for her.

But the Weasley was nothing if not stubborn.

"Hermione, wait!" It didn't take long for Ron to finally catch up at a vacated hallway and blocked her path

"Stay away from me, Weasley." Hermione snapped, her voice trembling as she pushed her way past him. But Ron made a move for her arm. "Hermione, if this is about—"

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" The girl shrieked, shaking her arm out of his grasp with a sharp slap. "What even is your problem?! Why can't you just leave me alone?!"

"My problem? I'm the one who should be asking you that!" Said Ron. "When we first met on the train, you were nice enough to me. But once class started, you've been downright pissed at me and I don't know why!"

"You don't know? For someone who is supposed to be the top student of our year," said Hermione with scathing spite, "You're surprisingly rather thick, aren't you?"

Calm down, Weasley. Deep breaths. Calm down. "Well since you're so smart," Ron whispered lowly. "Maybe you can tell me."

The bushy haired girl's brown narrowed hard. "Don't act like you're the victim here, after you deliberately made a fool out of me back at Charms!"

He heard footsteps coming from his left, but Ron forced his focus to remain on the girl in front of him. "Hermione, that's—I didn't mean for that to happen! I—!"

"Rubbish! Professor Flitwick said that you can only achieve that kind of skill through constant practice!" The girl snapped angrily at him. "You must have already cast that charm properly for days now, but you made it look like you didn't know what you were doing, just to pull a cruel trick on me when I finally—!"

Ron's cheeks colored guiltily. "That wasn't what I meant to do." He took a deep breath. "Fine, I admit, I planned to let you get the charm right first. But it's because I'm tired of this! I don't want this to be some sort of competition between us! We're here to learn, not to see who's the best witch or wizard in the school!"

"Oh is that it? You were feeling sorry for me?!"

"I don't feel sorry for you! I want to be nice to you! I want for us to be friends!"

"Well too bloody bad, because I don't want to be yours!" Hermione shouted at him, her lithe body shaking in rage. "You think you're so smart and so popular, just because you're friends with Harry Potter! Just because you can do better magic than me! Just because you think you're smarter than me! But I know your type! You're just a thick headed, attention seeking ponce!"

"Th—That's just stupid! I never said any of that! Where are you even getting all of that from?!"

"No, you're being stupid! I don't need your pity, Weasley! So what if I don't have any friends? So what if everyone seems to like you better than me? I don't bloody care! You hear me, Weasley? I don't bloody care," continued Hermione. "So shove your niceties up your arse because I don't want it! I don't even like you! I hate you, Ronald Weasley, and for the love of God, let this be the last time I say it, LEAVE ME ALONE!"

With that, Hermione had bodily slammed her way past Ron, who was too stunned by her parting words that it left him in shock, limbless, as memories from another time bombarded his senses.

"Why do you have to be such a complete prat, Ron?!"

"What should I have expected over someone with an emotional range of a teaspoon?!"

"You—complete—arse—Ronald—Weasley!"

"RON!"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of his stupor and straight into the green depths of Harry's worried eyes.

"H—Harry?" It was then that he realized how shaky he was, how the world sounded like fluctuating buzzing in his own ears.

"Ron, you OK?" Neville appeared next to Harry, looking just as concerned. "You want to sit down for a bit?"

"Who would want you, over the Chosen One?"

"N—no, I'm fine. It's—I'm OK. I just—" Ron shook his head. Get a fucking grip, Weasley! "Hey, mates, do me a favor and get my books up the Tower for me, yeah? I'll just—" He cleared his throat after shoving his books into Harry arms. "I need to go to the loo."

He had taken off before Harry or Neville had the chance to reply.

"Stop blaming Crookshanks for losing Scabbers, you prat! It's not his fault you couldn't take care of your pet properly!"

"The next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does and not as a last resort!"

Shite! Shite! Shite! Shite! Ron splashed more water onto his face, as if it would somehow wash away the images and words bombarding his mind.

He hadn't known how long he stayed in the men's loo, rubbing his face and sending water all over the sink and mirrors, swaying between wanting to throwing up and to pound his head against the wall to knock himself out. He felt terrible for leaving his friends like that, then not telling them where he went or when he'd catch up to them. But he can't let them see him like this, can't let anybody see just how pathetic the real Ronald Weasley is, over a girl of all things.

But no, Hermione Granger was not just any girl. She had been his best friend, his ally, his rock whenever he became too emotional, the woman he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with. And Merlin help him for being so selfish, but he wanted her back so badly, even if it's just as a friend for now. Harry and Neville had come back to him somehow, so why couldn't he have her?

Was it because I changed? Because I duped everyone into thinking that I'm some sort of prodigy? Ron thought morosely. If only I could tell the truth, that I'm just a fraud. A fucking fraud. Hermione's the smartest witch of our generation and she…she worked so hard to be the best. I…I never wanted to take that from her. I just want her.

Ron felt his eyes burn so he angrily swiped at them. This is the worst. What was crying like a big baby going to do, other than to make him even more of a laughable piece of shite? But in spite of knowing this, the tears kept on building.

It's like losing her all over again. But this can't be it. There has to be a way, Ron choked heavily. There has to be a way for me to prove to her that I…I never meant to hurt her. I just want for us to be friends again. For things to go back to the way they were supposed to…

"Well too bloody bad, because I don't want to be yours!"

Ron frowned, his hand hovering over the closed sink tap.

Now that was a very good point. All this time, when it came to Hermione, he kept on thinking that he wanted her friendship back, more than because it was what was meant to happen, but because it was what he wanted to happen. Needed to happen.

But then he had changed things, hadn't he? Ever since he awakened that July night, he had already begun changing things, in spite of his best efforts to not affect any external events other than what he had to.

The more Ron thought about it, the more he began to realize…

It said that this world is not entirely the one in my old future. Ron thought. That some things will be different here to begin with. And here I am, trying to change this world, forcing it to become what I remember it being. But this is their world too, isn't it? And…if it's not something that will cause their deaths…who am I to make them do what I want?

"Why does this have to be so bloody complicated?" The red-haired wizard exhaled loudly before brushing his mussed up hair back. I guess this is the price I pay for going back in time, huh? Or to be reborn or whatever It wants to call this.

Ron took one more good look on the mirror. His hair wasn't as messy as before, his complexion having a little bit of its color back. Passable, he supposed. I better get back out. It's probably time for the Feast already. I'm sure Harry and Neville must be a little worried—

THUD!

A loud bang on the loo door, and a slamming motion that made Ron nearly lose his balance. "What the hell?"

THUD! THUD! BOOM!

The ground seemed to quiver at the impact, seemingly affecting the whole room, making Ron slip from his grip on the sink and sending him flat on his bum.

Was it an earthquake? Something in his gut told him otherwise. For one thing, he was bloody sure that there had never been an earthquake at Hogwarts during his first year. He'd definitely remember something like that! For another, the shaking felt like it was being caused by something heavy beating down the door. Something strong enough to affect the whole room in the process—

BLAG!

Ron barely managed to raise his arms on time, shielding him from the debris as the said door exploded into pieces.

What in the world is going on out there?! It was after hacking a bit of dust out of his lungs that the most nauseous scent hit him.

The combined smell of a badly soiled urinal and filthy, grimy socks.

Oh no. Ron's hand went for his wand, heart hammering as he braced himself for what he already knew was there. Oh, you have got to be fucking with me.

Less than ten feet away from Ron, towering twelve meters of hulking grey mass and with a very thick, spiked wooden club hanging from one of its arms, was a fully grown, angrily growling Mountain Troll.

Let me explain.

I fully intended to wrap up the Halloween chapter with one chapter. But then it turned into this behemoth that I had to cut it down to size.

But heeeey, at least there's a troll at the end, right?

*crickets chirping*

Hermione might seem a little too spiteful here, but even the smartest witch of her generation can't be mature all the time (and she's a kid! Some immaturity is to expected!) I'm not bashing her here. There are reasons for her actions; not exactly right ones, but they're there nonetheless. Don't get me wrong, I like RHr, but Ron won't be her punching bag, just as Hermione will always calls out Ron's shit. They will both mistakes, own up to them and grow as a result. That's what made their dynamic an enjoyable read (at least during the first five books).

And now we've got the study clubs in! And my first two OCs, Hui and Durand! Yay! The students who joined Ron's study clubs are all either canon characters or lifted from other HP-related material (looking at Haywood). Give them time, they'll warm up to Ron eventually.

Once again, I could never thank you all enough for the attention you're giving my humble fanfic, especially for those who took the time to review, point out corrections and give feedback. Your kind words are what inspire me to continue writing, because honestly, it makes a huge difference when you're writing for something that you know people are reading and enjoying; and when you're writing for something without feedback. Much love, guys. Hope you enjoyed this one. If not, hope you'll leave comments/suggestions/corrections to make it better.

UP NEXT:
The conclusion of the Ron vs. the Troll face-off, and its consequences for Ron and the people around him.

Chapter Text

All right, just some (quick?) notes before we all start.

I've had the pleasure of having a reviewer subtly insult Ron in the reviews for TBA. As some of the recurring readers to this fanfic, you may be aware that I reply to who I can, so of course I did the same with that reviewer. Unfortunately, instead of the debate I was expecting, the attacks became personal on both sides and the main issue—what the hell is your problem with Ron?—was not addressed. And their reasons for Ron not being worthy of Hermione? He left them in DH. Wow. Just wow. Way to characterize a person by just their mistakes.

What I'm saying is this: you don't like Ron? Fine. But why the hell would you read a fanfic about someone you don't like? Oh, and they called me Chuchi Otaku Ronald, as if I'm supposed to find that insulting. On the contrary, I find that to be a huge compliment. I can only wish to be as half as brave, loyal and direct as Ron is.

Another is that I get that this fanfic isn't for everyone, even for Ron lovers. Even if I think the story, world rules and lore is as well thought out as possible, there will always be some who will find holes to poke and expand. Again, that's fine. I might learn something from it. But here's the thing: HP canon (especially in terms of the magic) is not so thoroughly expanded upon that I can't take artistic liberty on some aspects. I try to stick to canon most of the time, but as I have mentioned in the Prologue arc, Ron's new world is not exactly like the one he left behind. Please keep this fact in mind, as well as me being creative on some things. If you don't like my work for it, then I wish you all the best as you go for the next fanfic.

TL;DR: If you're not a Ron fan, that's fine. But don't shit on him in the reviews on a fanfic about him. That's just dumb. And if you don't like me taking artistic liberties on canon, then OK, move on.

On more positive news, I'm happy to announce that TBA officially has a beta reader! Yay! Many thanks to A. C. nelli for all the help with this chapter! You're awesome, my friend!

Thanks also to StarsandSunkissed for their comment on the one vs. multiple fic dilemma. Still haven't decided yet but I'll definitely make up my mind soon!

Chapter Eight:

Trouble with a Troll

Just my fucking luck.

Adrenaline coursed through Ron's veins; his whole body taut as a string as he eyed the troll standing in front of him. He cursed himself again for being so bloody whiny and emotional that he forgot that today had also been the day Quirrell let the troll into Hogwarts!

It was a small consolation that it wasn't Hermione who ran into the monster this time. The problem now was that Ron—small, scrawny, and armed with an unstable wand Ron—wasn't entirely sure he'd fare any better than her.

Pull yourself together, Weasley! You're not bloody eleven, you're an eighteen-year-old wizard from the war. FOCUS!

When the troll lunged for him with a roar, club aloft, that veteran in Ron kicked into action, flinging himself to a cubicle with a grunt just before the club could squash him flat.

Bracing a hand on the door halfway into the stall, Ron pulled out his wand, his mind working a mile a minute.

Trolls. What do I know about Trolls? Big, dumb, mean, eats people, skin too thick for low-levelled spells too work… Ron's eyes flashed. Hates light!

When the troll's head turned to him, Ron pointed his wand at the creature. "LUMOS SOLEM!"

But instead of a bright beam of sunlight, what came out was a quick burst of light. Ron glowered at his wand. Now is NOT the time for you to act up, you stupid piece of trash!

But the light was enough to disorient the troll, who cried out in pain and shook its head furiously. Ron took the chance to slip out of the cubicle and bolt for the door, but the monster's club went soaring, shattering the wooden stalls. It was only because Ron felt the wind change that he managed to duck behind the sink, shielding himself from the bombardment of splinters and nails.

When Ron heard the a loud stomp, rightly predicting that the troll had braced itself to head for Ron's direction, the boy readied his wand again.

Trolls don't have good eyesight, having to live in the dark to avoid the sun, but make up for it with sensitive hearing. He saw the glint at his right. Too many ways this could go wrong, but it's not like I have any other choice!

"BOMBARDA!" Ron aimed the spell at the mirrors, blasting them apart into shards large and small, the resulting boom sounding like a combination of a bang and crunching glass. The troll was momentarily winded by both the shock of the loud sound and the glass (its skin may be thick, but the shards can still cut its eyes and nostrils). Ron too felt some of the glass cut his face but he raised an arm to keep most of it covered and channeled all of his magic into his next spell. "CONFRINGO!"

Energy coursed through Ron's fingers to the point of burning, causing a huge blast of fire as big as the troll's upper torso that went straight for the its face. The troll's skin may be impervious to most charms and curses, but even it will feel some pain when faced with a full-powered blasting curse. It howled again, taking a step back and waving its free hand frantically when its crude animal hide vest caught fire. Ron took the chance to run for the loo exit, but was slowed by his stumbling as some of the shards may have cut his face, close to his right eye.

Shite! Shite! It burns! Ron kept his bad eye closed in case some glass did get into it, pressing a hand to the bleeding part of his face. He pushed out of the loo and took off to some random direction as steadily as he could.

This hall's too narrow to properly fight a troll. And on my own too. Either I find someplace wide enough and fight it myself or—better yet— run into the Professors.

"RON!"

That familiar voice made Ron's heart drop to his feet. Oh bollocks!

Forcing his good eye forward, the time traveller nearly lurched in horror when he saw, "Harry?! Neville?!" He choked. "H—Hermione?!"
Neville's face turned ghost white. "Oh Merlin, Ron, what happened to you?!"

"What—?! No, what are you three doing here?! There's a fucking troll on the loose!"

Harry's eyes widened. "You—you know about the troll? But you weren't at the Feast—!"

"I know about it because the bloody wanker right is behind me!" Ron pushed his friend forward.

"Oh God, Ron, your face—!"

A loud roar and a slam ripped through the quiet hallway. "NOT NOW, HARRY!" Ron yelled fiercely. "RUN!"

The four then hurried onwards as fast as they could, stumbling and gasping along the way. But the troll, despite its heavy build, had somehow caught up with them. An irritated Ron flicked his wand again. "LUMOS SOLEM! CONFRINGO!"

There was a burst of light, and then of fire, but both were too weak to stall the creature chasing them for long.

Hermione's eyes were wide with fright, only able to keep up with the group because of Neville pulling on her arm. "Wh—what on earth was—?"

"Me trying to keep us alive!" Ron snapped angrily, furious at the fact that despite his best efforts, his spells weren't as strong as the amount of power he was channeling to cast them. I swear to Merlin, once I get enough Galleons, I am replacing this wand! How am I supposed to save anyone if I can't even save myself because of this stubborn piece of bull—?!

There was another roar, much louder than the last, and Ron's insides went cold.

It's right behind us! He took a quick glance. And it's bringing down its club! "GUYS, LOOK OUT!"

Harry turned at Ron's warning and quickly pushed Hermione who was in front of him to the left, while Ron pulled Neville to the right, just in time to avoid the attack that instead crushed the stone where the four of them had been.

But the impact of the striking club and the force of his jump made Ron hit the nearby wall, nearly knocking the boy out of his wits.

"Ron! Ron, come on, get up!" The eighteen-turned-eleven was now dizzy on top of hurting because of his wounds, and would have succumbed to unconsciousness if it weren't for Neville's incessant shaking. "No, no, no! Ron, the troll! It's going after Harry and Hermione!"

…FUCK! Ron's good eye widened before bolting up. Several paces away, the mountain troll noisily lumbered to Harry, his thin face pale and hard, standing with wand aloft but clearly at a loss on what to do, and a terrified Hermione who stayed frozen and trembling on the floor.

The red head flicked his wand with a sharp cry. "REDUCTO!" But Charlie's old wand must really, really hate him with a vengeance, because it chose now to produce a Reducto that popped on the monster's back like a mere bubble. Not even turning to Ron's direction, the troll let out a grunt, its mean little eyes fixed on Harry…

"Harry! Hermione!" Driven by desperation and the thought that his wand was now close to useless, Ron did the only thing he could think of: he propelled himself onto the troll's wide open back.

The smell of trash and swill assaulted Ron's senses as he clawed on the monster's head and ears, somehow managing to drive his wand into one of the beast's nostrils. It roared in pain, stumbling back as its free hand reached frantically for Ron, who was hanging on for dear life.

"RUN!" The time traveller shouted at his friends. "GO AND GET THE PROFESSORS! HURRY! I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG I CAN KEEP THS UP!"

Harry's face turned ashen. "But we can't leave you—"

"BLOODY HELL, HARRY, JUST G—WOAH!" Ron felt something rough and big pull at his robes. One second, he was on the troll's back, the next he was in the air, soaring, meeting Harry's and Hermione's horrified eyes before his back hit the wall with a crack.

"RON!"

The young Gryffindor hit the floor, gasping and choking like a fish out of water, white hot pain coursing through his veins.

Shite, did I break something? This is bad. Real bad. Ron coughed, forcing himself up with an arm, only to feel hands on his back and shoulders.

"C—Come on, Ron." A shaky voice from somewhere in front of him. Hermione. "Come on, get up! Up!"

"Ron," Despite their situation, the time traveller couldn't help his smile. "You called me Ron…"

From behind him, another voice, more urgent and commanding. "Come on, mate! Hang in there! Don't you faint on me!"

"H—Harry—" Ron heard a thud, then another. In his swimming vision, he saw the troll heading for them.

"N—no! Harry, Hermione, the troll! It's heading this way!" He pulled at someone's robe. "DON'T JUST STAND THERE! RUN! GO!"

The brown-haired girl looked frightened as ever, but kept her grip on Ron's arm tight, while Harry faced the troll, his body over Ron's as if he could somehow shield the red head.

Ron tried to find his wand, only to remember that it was stuck up the bloody troll's nostril. Shite, no! Please! This can't be happening! Where the hell are the Professors?! SOMEONE, ANYONE, DO SOMETHING!

THUNK!

A chunk of rock flew into the troll's face, right at one of its eyes. The grey beast shook its head, snorting in irritation, only for another rock to hit it square on the nose.

"OI! PEABRAIN!" From about five feet away, Neville, scowling despite being white as a sheet, stood with an armful of rocks, chucking piece after piece at the monster's head. "YEAH, YOU, BOGEY FACE! WANT SOME MORE OF THIS?! THEN COME AND BLOODY GET IT!"

"Neville!" Ron's heart clenched with affection for his obviously scared but very brave friend, who was now in the troll's line of sight as the creature went for Neville, its club swaying as it went. Wait…club…

The massive, stone studded piece of wood swayed again, once, twice, until it finally clicked in Ron's mind.

Of course! Of fucking course! Why not? That's how we beat the troll the first time around!

"H—Harry—" Green eyes met a pained blue one. "Club. Use…club."

Harry was openly confused for a second by what Ron meant until the time traveller swished and flicked his wrist. The bespectacled boy's eyes then narrowed in determination and understanding before getting up, wand aloft.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

The club jerked for a bit before it flew out of the troll's grasp, making it pause in confusion three feet away from Neville who looked dangerously close to fainting. There was a moment of quiet before Hermione shrieked, "Go for the head!"

Harry waved his wand again, and the club plummeted straight for the troll's small noggin.

BLAG!

The monster let out a sound, a cross between a growl and being sick, its legs swaying unsteadily. The group watched with bated breath as it went left, right, left again, arms swinging like massive tree branches, before careening forward. Neville barely managed to back away far enough to avoid getting flattened by the monster's torso as it fell face first into the ground with a loud crack.

A few breathless seconds passed before Hermione broke it again. "Is it…is it dead…?"

Ron tried to force his blurring vision to work, to see if the troll had indeed been knocked down and out for the count, but his head was pounding too hard, and it was getting harder to breathe. He tried to speak, but could only cough out something that tasted like rust.

Rust? That's weird. I don't remember swallowing a pipe—

"Oh my…Harry! He's…!"

"…Ron! Ron…stay…! Come on…!" His friends' frantic voices swam in and out of his consciousness. Ron desperately wanted to assure him that he was fine now that the troll has been dealt with and his friends are safe, but…

"Oh my Merlin—!"

"Professor…help…he's…!"

"Is that…? How did…?"

"Hear…? Mr. Weasley…Weasley…?"

…The blackness…was too…overwhelming…

"Ron…up! RON!"

"…take…Poppy…now!"

"Professor…my fault…I'm so…!"

"Ron, hang in there!"

Give me a minute, Harry. The time traveller thought wearily. Just need to…shut my eyes for a bit…

"…RON!"

"Ron? What are you doing up so early?"

The red-haired boy jumped from the couch in the Common Room on hearing Hermione come down from the girl's dorm. The girl looked like she slept well enough, considering their encounter with the troll from last night. She already had a couple of books under her arm, probably for a bit of light reading, Ron thought.

"Err, morning, Hermione." He coughed awkwardly. "Nothing too important, really. Just wanted to have a quick word."

Hermione raised her brow before tilting her head. "Where's Harry?"

Even when he's the only bloke in the room right now, everyone would rather ask about Harry. Ron stomped the bitter thought away. "Still sleeping. Was a bit worn out after yesterday and it's a weekend so why not?"

"Oh, it's just," Hermione paused. "You and Harry are like two peas in a pod, you know? I'm just so used to seeing you two together. Anyway, did you need something?"

The ginger wizard took a deep breath. OK, Ronald, this is it. Remember what you've practiced last night. Smooth, calm and easy…

"I'm, err, I reckon I owe you an, ah, that's to say—"

Hermione blinked. "Pardon? I didn't quite catch that."

Smooth, Weasley, very smooth. "—look, I'm sorry, all right?"

Hermione's face slackened in surprise, nearly dropping the books she had been holding, but Ron carried on.

"I'm sorry, y'know, about what I said before after Charms? About you not having any friends and being an insufferable know-it-all? It was rude, and mean, but it's not like I meant for you to hear it." Ron winced. "Err, not that that makes it OK, but I…"

The bushy haired girl's face turned rather pink. "You got up this early just to tell me this?"

"It wouldn't feel right if I didn't. I owe you at least that."

"You saved my life, Ron. You and Harry," said Hermione. "If anything, I owe you."

"You wouldn't have run into that troll if it weren't for what I said, I reckon." Ron shrugged. "So sorry."

Hermione's brown eyes studied him carefully, making Ron feel like he was one of McGonagall's complicated notes she needed to decipher or something, before she spoke again. "You know, Ron, I always thought of you as loud, lazy, rude and inconsiderate—"

Ron's brows twitched but he clenched his jaw shut anyway. He figured he deserved to hear that, after all the mean things he said about her.

"But you're quite nice underneath all that." Hermione concluded. "You're not the first person to have said those things about me. Frankly, it shouldn't have hurt the way it did but…" She looked away. "I thought Hogwarts would be different, yet I still ended up being the same friendless know-it-all back in primary school…"

"Now that's not true!" Ron countered quickly. "You have friends now! You have me and Harry!"

Hermione looked stunned for a moment at the declaration before smiling softly, her buck teeth showing a bit. But for some reason, though, Ron found that…rather nice. Unusual but nice.

"Thank you, Ron."

Said ginger cleared his throat, eyes averting to the floor. "Err, no problem."

"Really, Ron, thank you. While you're not the first person to say rude things about me," Hermione said after a short pause. "You're the first one to say you're sorry about it. I can see now why you're Harry's best friend."

Ron ignored the heat on his cheeks in favor of holding out his hand. "Friends?"

Hermione shook his hand tightly. "Friends."

The first thing Ron noticed when he first regained consciousness his face stinging like hell. The second was that there was something slightly rough all over his face, pulling at his head and neck but not in an oppressive way.

The third was that there was something warm and firm nudging at his right arm, and what felt like fingers brushing on his left. He cracked his good eye open and saw a somber looking ginger standing next to his bed.

He was able to tell who almost immediately. "F—Fred?"

Fred's gaze went from Ron's hand to his blue eyes. "…Ronnie?"

Ron smiled lazily and was about to add something when he heard more voices. "Ronnie!"

The boy had to turn his head to see who the ones on his right were. "Perce? George? What are you guys doing here?"

His two older brothers looked just as haggard as Fred had been, with their faces pale and their hair mussed up. And, Merlin help him, it looked like George was close to tears.

Percy was the first to speak. "Oh Ronnie, I'm so sorry."

Ron's visible brow rose in surprise. "Sorry? For what?"

"You don't remember, Ron?" Fred said in a strained whisper. "Professor McGonagall said you ran into the troll."

The troll… Ron inhaled sharply when the memories came back, forcing his body upright. "Right, the troll! It went after me, Harry, Hermione and Neville! Did we beat that blighter? Are the others OK?"

"Oi, take it easy!" George gently pushed Ron back on the bed. "The troll did a number on you, Madame Pomfrey said you shouldn't push yourself for a while."

"Besides, those three are back at the tower. Shaken up by the incident, no doubt, but fine." Percy swallowed thickly. "You're…you're the only one who had to go to the Hospital Wing."

"Good. That's good." Was it him, or did Percy sound a tad bitter? Ron frowned but decided not to comment. "Err, anyway, when did Madame Pomfrey say I could leave?"

"In two days. You hit your head pretty hard, broke some bones and hurt your eye, but she said you'll make a full recovery."

The youngest Weasley boy nodded. "That's a relief. Got me scared for a minute that I'll be one-eyed for the rest of my life."

Percy frowned heavily. "That's neither funny nor appropriate, Ron!"

"Oh lighten up, Percy, it was just a joke!"

"And it's not funny!" The older male exploded, much to Ron's surprise. "You could have gotten yourself killed, Ron! A fully grown mountain troll! Older wizards had died fighting one off! You're beyond lucky to have made it out in one piece!"

Ron had seen his third oldest brother angry before—had an epic row with him about Harry even—but never had he seen Percy this furious; and over being worried about him, of all things! He looked to Fred and George for help, hoping that they'd lighten the mood, tell Percy that he was worrying too much or even poke fun at Ron wrestling a troll.

Instead, Fred, with a trembling hand to his face, whispered almost painfully. "Bloody hell, Ronnie, when George and I told you that you'd have to wrestle a troll in your first year, I didn't think you'd take it this seriously."

Ron scoffed with an eye roll. "I didn't go looking for that wanker, Fred."

"Language, Ron." Percy said sharply.

"Look, it's not that I don't know I'm lucky to get away from that troll alive! Mountain troll, the biggest, meanest, and stupidest of their kind, stinks like all sorts of awful shite. What I don't get is why you lot are still being such worry warts over it!" Ron gestured at himself. "Madame Pomfrey said I'll make a full recovery, right? I'll only be like this for two days so can you please stop looking at me as if you're gathering 'round my funeral or—"

"Stop talking like that, Ron!" That was George this time, shouting so loudly and so close to Ron's ear that it made the youngest Weasley boy flinch.

Geez, what's his problem? The twins used to make morbid jokes all the time, so why can't I? So OK, maybe they're loads funnier at it than me but still… Nevertheless, the utterly disturbed expression on George's face was enough to guilt Ron into another diversionary tactic.

"All I'm saying is that I'm. Fine. Not yet in tip top shape, but I will be, so stop looking so glum about this! You have other stuff you should be worrying about," Ron pointed at Percy, "Like, say, badges to clean, rounds to do," then at Fred and George, "Bludgers to beat, pranks to plan," before finishing with a bright smile. "You know, bigger and better things."

Ron always thought that he was the least funny guy in the family, but bloody hell, could they please give him a little credit? He was trying his best here! He wasn't expecting all out laughter, but honestly, did his brothers' faces have to visibly fall with every word?

Bloody idiot brothers not making any lick of sense, that's what they are.

But just when Ron was ready for another attempt to lighten the mood, the curtains next to his bed parted to reveal Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley, good you're awake." The Mediwitch said kindly to him before setting down a covered tray on Ron's bedside table, nodding to the older Weasley boys. "I understand that you wish to stay with your brother, but it is getting rather late and Mr. Weasley needs his rest."

His brothers, in a surprising show of unity, looked like they were going to voice out protests, but McGonagall's stern glare shut them down. "This is not up for negotiation. You may see Ronald tomorrow morning if you are so truly inclined, but for now, he needs rest."

"The troll has been removed from the premises, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore added softly, his twinkling gaze on a stiff looking Percy. "I promise you, Ronald will be in good hands here."

Percy's jaw closed with an audible snap, Fred's lips twisted in a deep frown while George's eyes turned misty, somber and pained. It made Ron curse himself for causing his brothers to look so unlike themselves, and over something as small as this!

"Perce, Fred, George, it's fine, really." He gave them a weak smile. "I'll see you all tomorrow?"

It took a few seconds before the older Weasleys finally seemed to relent, with George giving Ron a gentle pat on the head before leaving the time traveller with only the three adult wizards for company.

"Now that that is settled," Pomfrey began after bringing out her wand. "How are you feeling, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron paused contemplatively. "Still sore, especially around my face, and my limbs feel twitchy. My eye also itches like he—err, crazy. How long have I been out?"

"About four hours since you were found. The soreness and itching are to be expected, and the latter is a good sign. Means your wounds are healing properly." The Mediwitch flicked her wand around the red head a few times before nodding. "Now I suppose you're feeling rather famished about now. Your friends said you missed the Feast. And given the extent of your injuries, you will need as much nutrition as you can get."

Ron's stomach let out a pitiful growl as if on cue. "Thanks, Madame Pomfrey. Err, speaking of my friends…"

His hopeful gaze fell on McGonagall who adjusted her glasses before speaking. "They have been sent back to the Gryffindor Tower right after we found you with the troll, terribly shaken and worried about you, of course. I understand that you need your rest, Mr. Weasley but," She sent a pointed stare at the frowning Pomfrey. "This simply cannot wait."

"You want to know what happened?"

"We have already heard Mr. Potter's, Mr. Longbottom's and Ms. Granger's versions of the story," Dumbledore said kindly. "All that is missing is your own."

"…I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore," said Ron after a pause. "It's my fault they got involved with the troll. They wouldn't have run into it if they weren't looking for me."

McGonagall looked like she wanted to say something, but Dumbledore held out a hand. The old man then sat down next to Ron and nodded. "Can you tell me what happened, dear boy?"

And at that moment, Dumbledore had such a comforting, easy grandfather-like aura around him that Ron had to remind himself to not meet the man's blue eyes. "I was in the loo…I wasn't feeling very well, and I hadn't noticed the time. Just when I was about to leave, there was this sort of small earthquake, which was actually the troll banging on the door. Had to use a few spells to get away from it. I was going to find a teacher, but then Harry, Neville and Hermione were there, looking for me. Then the troll caught up to us and…" He swallowed. "Good thing Harry was able to levitate the club and use it on the troll. Managed to knock it out, I think. Didn't see it, though. That's when I got knocked out, and that's all I really remember."

Ron saw Dumbledore and McGonagall exchange looks.

"A fascinating show of skill, that, to be able to levitate the club of a mountain troll," said Dumbledore. "But I believe there's more to this story than you're telling us."

The time traveller fought hard to keep a blank face. "W—what else is there to tell?"

"From what your friends told us, it appears that you have, so to speak, the lion's share of the responsibility of taking down the troll," explained the Headmaster. "It appeared that the creature had already taken considerable amount of damage that is most certainly not caused by a blow to the head. It had burns all over its front, as well as splinters of glass on its body."

Ron kept his eyes glued on his wringing hands on his lap. "First year spells weren't going to cut it for a mountain troll, were they?"

"What spells did you use then?"

The boy thought about lying, but then realized that Dumbledore will find out the truth anyway (if the man already didn't know). "A couple of blasting curses. The exploding charm. A reductor—"

He heard McGonagall inhale sharply. "Those are sixth to seventh year level spells, Mr. Weasley!"

Ron blushed. "That's why I botched them up so bad. Should've known reading on a spell and actually casting them are two different things."

"…Mr. Weasley, please look at me."

Shite. Ron slowly lifted his gaze to meet Dumbledore's, his mind working through every little thing Harry told him and Hermione before about Occlumency. Dumbledore may be a fighter for the Light, but Ron wouldn't put it past the old man to try to read his mind.

"Snape said you won't feel mild probes on your mind, but because there's not much force behind, they won't be able to see past surface thoughts."

So Ron forced as much of his memories of the incident into the forefront, praying that it would be enough to shield any and all evidence of him being more than just another first year student.

It felt like an eternity later that Dumbledore smiled. "You have nothing to be ashamed of or be sorry for, Mr. Weasley. Your actions and due diligence have saved more than one life tonight. Any other first year might have quailed under the viciousness of a mountain troll, and had this incident happened to anyone else, we may have lost an innocent tonight."

"…You're not mad, about me knowing those advanced spells." Ron blurted. "I…I just, err, read some of it in the library. Just wanted to learn about them, in theory I mean! I'd never cast them if I really didn't have to."

"Ah, yes. Your Professors and some of the lecturers mentioned what a bright, studious boy you are, Mr. Weasley. Following the footsteps of William and Percy now, are you?" Dumbledore chuckled. "But yet you also possess the daring mettle of Charlie, Fred and George, as well as something entirely your own."

The red head blinked, completely lost. "Err, what?"

"I would not think of inhibiting your appetite for learning, as long as you do not perform advanced magic unsupervised," said Dumbledore. "I speak from personal experience. Why, there was one time, in my stubborn, youthful pride, I attempted to cast a powerful fire spell. Sadly, it nearly burned off all of my hair so dreadfully that I had to hide the black spots with a hat for weeks!"

An image of a black-faced Dumbledore with a sizzling fringe was such an odd mental image that Ron barely managed to stifle his snicker. The wizened wizard in front of him however appeared pleased with the reaction. "Hogwarts is a place of learning, and bright, youthful minds such as yourself are very much welcome to explore and learn in her hallowed halls. But take care to not lose sight of yourself along the way. Learning is important, but it is not the only thing that matters."

Ron nodded easily. "Yes, Headmaster."

"Very good. Now, I believe you have a late-night dinner to tuck yourself into." Dumbledore then tilted his head to McGonagall. "Unless your Head of House has a few more words?"

McGonagall adjusted her glasses. "While it is a commendable thing that you are reading such advanced materials for your age, I have to strictly emphasize to not go practicing such magic unsupervised. It may have saved your life this time, but casting such high-level spells with a still developing magical core could have detrimental effects, either on your target or on yourself."

Ron had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying that he wasn't an idiot, he had been casting those spells for two years and helped teach others how to cast said spells. All things considered, he was lucky he didn't get anything more than some reprimands.

"And while it is admirable for you to take responsibility for your friends' actions, in spite of their youth, I consider their choices to be their own responsibility. Something they fully understood, I can tell," said McGonagall. "Ms. Granger admitted to being the reason you were…feeling unwell, as you put it, and missed the Feast."

The time traveller's eyes widened. "S—She had?"

The old witch nodded. "Your intentions are noble, Mr. Weasley, but it is for the best that Ms. Granger learns to take responsibility for her actions."

Ron's cheeks burned at McGonagall's flat stare. "Sorry, Professor."

McGonagall nodded to Dumbledore once more, and the Headmaster got to his feet. "We best be off, Mr. Weasley. I'm afraid we have already stretched Madame Pomfrey's patience to its limits. And any wise wizard knows, never make an enemy out of your Mediwitch."

"Albus." Pomfrey, who was at Ron's right, clicked her tongue, while Ron grimaced, having forgotten that said Mediwitch was also in the room.

"Oh, and before we go, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore with a wink. "Fifteen points to Gryffindor for having the due diligence and presence of mind in the face of a fully grown troll!"

"Albus," McGonagall groaned, and Ron could still hear them discussing on the way out of the Hospital Wing. "Flitwick already gave Potter fifteen points for levitating the troll's club!"

"And you have already taken five points off from each of them—"

"My point is that you cannot give them any more—"

"Minerva—"

"Don't Minerva me, Albus! You can't make the children think that—!"

The clinking of dinnerware in his front diverted Ron's attention back to Pomfrey, who had set a bedside table in front of him with a tray of chowder, some chips, a pumpkin pasty and a glass of pumpkin juice.

"Just have what you can finish, Mr. Weasley," said Pomfrey. "Do you think you can manage or shall I assist you?"

Ron coughed uncomfortably. "N—No, thanks, Madame Pomfrey. I think I can manage."

While it was a bit hard with his arms and hands being more uncooperative than usual, it was also no different from the time he was recovering from the brains attacking him during fifth year so it didn't take Ron long to adapt. But even as he sipped some of his chowder and nibbled on some of his chips, Ron's thoughts kept drifting back to the earlier conversation with Dumbledore and McGonagall, and stayed there for the rest of the night.

It was late in the afternoon when Ron's friends dropped in for a visit, a little after Ron woke up from his nap.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep after lunch, but seeing his parents that morning had tired him out more than he thought. Both of them looked a bit worse for wear, with their faces as tight and drawn as the coats they wore over robes. His father looked like he hadn't had a wink of sleep, and his mother promptly burst to tears when she saw Ron in all his bandaged glory.

It was…disconcerting to see them so worried about him like this. Ron was so used to their frantic attentions being directed to his other siblings—or even Harry or Hermione—and him being the one who tries to smooth things over. But this situation? He didn't know where to begin on how to deal with it. If his earlier attempts at humor with his siblings didn't work…he really didn't want his ears grounded to dust if he made his mother even more upset.

"I'm fine, Mum." Ron finally went for good old reassurance. "Madame Pomfrey said I'll be as good as new tomorrow, so I'll be able to get back to classes soon."

"Oh, Ronnie," Molly's eyes softened fondly as she ran a hand through his hair. "Your father and I are so proud that you are taking your studies very seriously. Minerva just told us how a good student you have been so far. But please don't forget to take care of yourself too, dear. The most important thing is for you to get back in tip top shape first."

The boy's cheeks burned as he averted his gaze to his lap. It felt like forever since his mother gave him such a loving look. Had she ever, even? He pushed the somber thought aside. "Thanks, mum."

"A troll…" Arthur whispered with a shake of his head. "I honestly don't know if I should be more impressed or horrified. Not even Charlie or the twins got into this much trouble in their first year."

"…Sorry, dad."

"It's not you who should be sorry for anything, Ron," Arthur's eyes darkened. "How could a troll get into the school? Hogwarts is supposed to be warded from top to bottom!"

Ron paused before shrugging, partly in jest. "Maybe one of the Professors let it in as a Halloween joke?"
"Ronald!" Molly scolded sharply.

"Only joking, Mum."

"But all things considered, you dealt with the situation very well. Much better than I would have done as a first year." Arthur gently squeezed Ron's shoulder. "I'm very proud of you, Ron, but try not to get yourself into any more life-threatening situations. You have no idea how much you scared me and your mother when Albus told us of your run-in with the troll."

Ron thought of promising just that, if only to stop his parents from looking so troubled. But he knew that it would be an outright lie, and it made his gut queasy and cold just thinking it.

Instead, he asked, "I just remembered, how's Ginny? You haven't told her, have you, or anyone else? It's not that big of a deal anyway, so I won't mind if you didn't."

Molly opened her mouth, closed it with a frown before speaking again. "We left Ginny with the Fawcetts for a while, what with the Lovegoods out on their…expedition." She snorted. "And no, dear, we haven't told anyone else. We did mention to Ginny that we had to come see you."

"She insisted on joining us." added Arthur. "But we thought that you would not want for her to see you like this."

Ron nodded in quick agreement. "'Course not." If his parents were to be believed, then Bill and Charlie hadn't been told either, which in Ron's mind was a very good thing. Because of the limited communication with the two oldest Weasley children, Bill and Charlie hadn't been up to date with the Golden Trio's adventures during the first two years, and even then, most of the stories the siblings shared with them during that trip to Egypt had been about Harry saving the day.

(Although Ron may have downplayed just how dangerous the life-sized chess game with McGonagall had been. And he definitely did not tell them about meeting Aragog. He wasn't bonkers, thank you very much!)

What his two oldest brothers wouldn't know won't hurt them, Ron concluded to himself, but he'll need to write to Ginny as soon as he was discharged. His sharp little sister may have noticed something amiss with his parents coming to see him, and would have probably been miffed at being left out of seeing Hogwarts and their other siblings. And it was in the middle of thinking about what to write to her that Ron nodded off to, only to wake up to see his new set of visitors.

"Harry? Neville? Hermione?" Ron blinked again to clear the sleep from his eyes.

"Hullo, Ron." Neville said with a wave from Ron's left, his smile oddly strained. "Err, sorry if we took a while to visit. Harry's had Quidditch practice. Wanted to skip it, but I told him you wouldn't want him to. So, uhm, how're you feeling?"

"Much better. Madame Pomfrey said she'll finally get rid of these bloody bandages some time later. About time too—they're bloody itchy! — and I miss seeing things with both my eyes." Ron chuckled to himself. "How about you lot?"

Neville looked at Harry and Hermione uneasily before answering, "It's the weekend, so nothing much happened. Some of our House mates have been asking about whether we really took down the troll by ourselves. We obviously didn't tell them everything, and Professor McGonagall told them to stop bugging us for the details. You know how right scary she can be when you don't do what she says."

Do I ever. Ron thought with a shake of his head before gesturing to Harry and Hermione. "What's with you two? You look as if you just bit into a lemon?"

"Sorry, Ron, it's just," Harry cleared his throat. "I'm really happy you're OK, or as OK as you can be after getting thrown off a troll's back."

"Which means I'll be back to normal on Monday," shrugged Ron. "Getting hurt by a troll is no fun, but at least there's no lasting damage. Thank Merlin nobody else got hurt! I mean, it would've been better if none of us had, but it could be worse, right? It's really not a big deal!"

"Not a big deal?" Hermione whispered sharply. "You were nearly blinded in one eye and turned into a cut up mess and you think that wasn't a big deal?"

For someone who has been attacked by malevolent brains, seen werewolf cuts and bites, and had been gruesomely splinched twice? Yes. Though Ron belatedly realized that this was the first time his friends had witnessed someone they knew hurt in such a manner. Thinking of how he would have taken it as an eleven-year-old made the time traveller wince at how thoughtless he had been.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, that was bloody insensitive of me," said Ron, making his friends' eyes widen. "But I'm just tired of everyone looking at me as if I'm gonna die on them or something! The troll beat me up good, and it still hurts everywhere, but I'll be fine! Merlin, I've lost count of how many times I've had to say that! And why does everyone have to make it their fault somehow that this happened to me? Even Fred and George—Fred and George, the frigging pranking master prats—are treating me like I'm some fancy, fragile tea set! Just—bloody hell!"

The eighteen turned eleven let out a breath, enjoying the brief lightness that came with letting himself rant out. But the feeling soon went away when Hermione burst into tears.

Aww, bullocks! "H—Hermione, shite, what did I say? I didn't mean to—"

"I'm—I'm so sorry, Ron."

"—Huh?"

Hermione had her face buried in her hands, muffling her already shaky voice to the point that Ron had to strain a bit to hear. "It's all my fault you ran into the troll and got hurt so badly. And you were just trying to be nice to me, even when I was treating you like dirt—and I told you off. I—I said all those cruel, hurtful things—" She let out a sob. "No wonder no one wants to be friends with me."

The red-haired wizard's first instinct was to comfort her, to tell her that it was all right and that he understood. But then his Head of House's words came back to him.

"It is for the best that Ms. Granger learns to take responsibility for her actions."

Now that he thought about it, Ron didn't fully understand what happened between them; and it would be just fake, patronizing even, if he said that he did. So instead, he started with, "What were you mad about then, really?"

"A number of things, actually. Though all of them sound completely ridiculous and petty…"

"I'm listening, Hermione."

Harry cleared his throat. "Should we leave?"

Ron met his best friend's green eyes for a moment before turning to Hermione. "Do you want them to? I'm fine either way."

The bushy haired girl looked taken aback by the question before shaking her head. "No, I don't think they should. I…I think they ought to hear this too. I…I owe them as much as I do you."

She took another steadying breath after wiping her tears away. "I'm a Muggleborn, but even among muggles, I never felt like I belonged. I love my parents dearly, but…I never had any real friends, not even in primary school. I tried, of course. Even when I'd rather read instead, I'd join in their games every now and then. It never worked, because…they said I was too smart, a know-it-all. Just because I wanted to do my best and have good grades. Because I wanted to learn.

"But then Professor McGonagall showed up. She told me I could do magic, and that I'll be going to Hogwarts to learn how to use it. It felt like stepping into the wardrobe to Narnia—I was off to a new world and I was expecting a wonderful adventure. Maybe that's why I never really belonged at home—I was a witch! And at Hogwarts, I could finally find the friends I couldn't have in the Muggle world, because I was where I belonged." Hermione laughed humorlessly. "Turns out it wasn't any different."

"Hermione…"

"Muggleborns are actually considered to be the lowest kind of wizards in the magical world. I do well in class, but everyone still thinks I'm a know-it-all. Even my own House mates would rather talk to a wall than to me! But the worst part is," the girl bit her lip. "Is that the only one who's ever been nice to me, is the one who's getting everything I've ever wanted."

"Really? Who?" It took Neville's elbow to his side and even Harry's raised brow in disbelief before it dawned to Ron. "You—you can't mean me?"

"Pureblood and top student of the year. Even Professor Snape, as horrid as he is, seems to acknowledge you. But that's not the best part," said Hermione bitterly. "The best part is that even if you're like me—studious, hardworking, a serious student—for some reason everyone just likes you!"

"You can't be serious—!"

"Do you think I wouldn't notice? You're best friends with the Boy-Who-Lived, but even when he or Neville are not around, it's like you're able to find a friend in just about everyone! I've even seen you with students from other Houses, and they…they all seem to want to be around you. Because you're funny, witty, and they enjoy listening to you even when you're teaching them something! And I—I just—I always thought—" Hermione let out a sob. "I would have accepted it if being a good student means not being good with people or making friends, even if it will make me sad. But you! You make it look so easy! And it—it's just so frustrating and so ridiculous! Because why can you do it? Why can you take the cake and eat it too? Why can't I?!"

Ron was honestly gobsmacked. A part of him entertained Neville's idea that Hermione was jealous of him being a top student—as ridiculous as that sounds— but he hadn't thought that the roots ran deeper. But what confused and saddened him even more was that he really wasn't what Hermione thought. Sure, he got along well with his House mates and some of the students in the study clubs, but he wasn't popular, nowhere near Cedric or Bill had been back in the day. He was just an average bloke who could make others (save for his siblings) laugh. There wasn't any big mystery behind why.

And as for his performance in school, Ron was sure he explained that to death already. At least, to himself.

But then Hermione always had the hardest time socializing, hadn't she? Even in the DA, she didn't really connect well with the other members except for him, Harry, Neville and Ginny. It was why Harry did most of the teaching in DA instead of Hermione, despite her superiority in theoretical magic. Ron never really thought about it, because in his mind, he grew to love Hermione for who she was, and Hermione had grown confident enough in who she is to take what everyone else thought of her in stride.

But this frazzled, teary Hermione looked genuinely confused and hurt, to the point of questioning whether there was something wrong with her that made her so bad at making friends, looking at Ron as if he had the answers.

"If you're asking me…" Ron began carefully. "I think it's because of the way you approach people."

Hermione blinked. "The way I approach people?"

"I know you're just trying to be helpful, Hermione, but no one likes to be told what to do by someone who thinks they know better. Some can barely take it from the Professors, let alone a first year," said Ron. "There's a Ravenclaw I know, Sue Li, she reminds me a lot of you actually, bookish and really smart. But she shares her smarts in a way that doesn't make the others feel that they're…uh, dumber than her. She turns learning into something light and interesting, and not spouting of pages of textbooks word per word. That's great in class, but not really in casual conversations."

"O…Oh…"

"I know you're not a terrible person, Hermione. The first time we met, you were helping Neville here find his frog," Ron gestured to his other best friend who nodded with a small smile. "And during that time with the troll, you joined Harry and Neville in finding me. Hell, you stayed with me even when a troll was about to smash us to bits! Now that's a true Gryffindor right there!"

"It was the least I could do." Hermione said tightly, her cheeks turning pink. "And it's my fault you got into that situation. I couldn't have lived with myself if anything happened to you and I wasn't there to help."
"Exactly!" Ron clapped his hands. "I just know you're a good person, Hermione! You just need to learn to people better, and I bet they'll get to see what a great friend you can be!"

Hermione stared at him. "After everything that's happened…how can you still think of me like that?"

Because I know you, and the amazing kind of person you can be in the future. Ron smiled. "You faced a troll with me. That counts for a whole lot, I reckon."

There was a moment of quiet, before Hermione suddenly threw her arms around Ron's neck, making the boy's face and neck as red as his hair. "H—Hermione?!"

"I'm really sorry, Ron," she hiccupped against his shoulder. "For everything."

The scent of wood, flowers and shampoo filled Ron's nose and it took all of his willpower to crush her against him like his heart wanted. Not only because this was the younger self of the woman he loved, but also because of how much everything clouding his senses reminded him of the friends and family he had lost and missed so terribly much.

"I—It's nothing! Really!" Ron forced his shaky voice to sound light, patting her back as gently as possible. "And besides, it's partly my fault too. Was being too pushy about being your friend. Should have realized you needed space. But we're good now, right?"

Hermione pulled away from him (to his relief and regret), her cheeks still pink. "I'd like that. If that's all right with everyone."

"Since it's what I've been wanting for the last two months, I'm more than fine with that," said Ron.

Neville caught Ron's eye before nodding as well. "It's all right with me too, Hermione."

All gazes then fell on Harry, who Ron just now realized looked rather tense. Green eyes met blue, and the time traveller saw frustration, sympathy, worry and, strangely enough, protectiveness. Strange, why would that be there? Or maybe Ron was just misreading things again.

"I…I guess I should apologize to you too, Hermione. For yelling at you the other night," said Harry. (Harry yelled at her? Really? As far as Ron remembered, Harry didn't start going off biting other's heads off until fifth year. What could have Hermione done to make his best friend lose his temper like that?) "I won't apologize for what I said, but I'll admit…the way I said things may have been uncalled for."

But Hermione shook her head, eyes kind and her smile watery. "It's all right. I definitely deserved it, and I'll even tell you to do just that if something like this happens again."

"Even against you?"

"Especially against me."

The two stared at each other before a smile slowly dawned on Harry's features. "You're all right, Hermione."

Hermione laughed slightly. "Nice to know I have Harry Potter's stamp of approval."

"Almost. You got your work cut out for you, but you're getting there."

Ron shot a questioning look at Neville. "What was that all about?"

But the Longbottom heir just smiled serenely with a pat on Ron's arm. "Never you mind, Ron. Never you mind."

All that confusion aside (because the cheeky little prats won't tell him anything), at least Hermione was their friend again. If there was one thing that the troll incident had been good for, it was for making it happen in this world too.

But what in the world is a Narnia? And why is it in a wardrobe anyway?

A postscript: I have been reading a new manga series called Hamefura, an isekai (reincarnation in a new world) story about a girl being reincarnated as the villainess Catarina Claes in a visual novel game whose main goal is to stop her death flags from happening and improving her relationships with the other characters in the process. I mention this because as the story progresses, Catarina has not only managed to avoid her doom endings but made everyone—and I mean everyone, even the female rivals in the game—fall in love with her. And the clincher? She doesn't even realize it, and is so dense as fuck she has fanon nicknames like black hole and Bakarina (a play of words meaning "stupid Catarina"). And as I was going through my work (drafts, notes and all), I've come to realize that I have turned Ron into something like this, a Baka!Ron. Unfortunately, I'm way too deep into this work to change the character now. So, if you don't like the character of Baka!Ron, then TBA won't be for you.

Will this turn into a Ron harem story? Absolutely not. But will this turn into everyone loves Ron? Broadly speaking, yes. And the best part is that Ron will be absolutely slow on the uptake. Poor bugger. :D

If you've reached this far, thank you again so much for reading! I've received so many good comments and suggestions for this fanfic, and rest assured I take all of your feedback in consideration (within reason). Thank you also to everyone who followed and added this story to your favorites!

UP NEXT:
More of the Troll aftermath, a bit of planning and Quidditch!

Chapter Text

Just a quick shoutout that I have my Tumblr site, Chuchi's Writer's Notebook, up and running at chuchiotaku.tumblr.com! (Because ffnet won't let me post links. But you guys get it, right?) I'll be posting my story writing notes, ideas and even some deleted chapters/extras over there so feel free to check it out if you're interested.

And after some more thinking (and thanks to everyone's suggestions), TBA years 1 to 7 will remain a single fanfic, with maybe some changes in the cover pics to reflect the changing years. Thank you so much for everyone's feedback on this matter.

Lastly, some reviewers have mentioned their worry/disappointment that this fanfic will no longer be updated. I...don't remember implying that. Did I? O_O In all seriousness, I do intend to finish Year One and go as far as I can (hopefully until the very end). So no worries on that front for now, mates.

Again much gratitude to my awesome beta, A.C. nelli. But since they're on a holiday, this post went un-betaed. So all mistakes here are mine, until the edited version is released.

Chapter Nine:

The First Quidditch Game

"Ronald Weasley has been attacked by the troll."

Fred felt like he had just been doused by a gallon of ice water, and George's tight grip on his arm was a not so pleasant reminder that this wasn't just a bad dream.

"Wh—what?" All of Percy's uptight pomp fell off his posture, his face a near bloodless pallor. "But—but how?! You said that thing was in the dungeons! Ron couldn't have possibly gone there!"

"Indeed." McGonagall's eyes were heavy with guilt. "Quirinus may have been mistaken. Mr. Weasley was attacked in the washroom, not knowing about the troll because he had not come down for the Feast."

"And Ron? Is Ron OK?" Fred snapped, far harsher than he knew he should have but he frankly couldn't care less.

"The troll has been dealt with by Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom and Ms. Granger, though the other three gave Mr. Weasley the bulk of the credit." A hint of pride was evident in McGonagall's tone for a brief moment before it turned sad. "However, he was injured by it, and had to be taken to the Hospital Wing."

Sweet Merlin. Fred thought, utterly horrified.

Wasn't it only a few weeks ago, when he and George congratulated Harry for becoming the new seeker, that they told Ron of the good word Oliver put in for him, and how proud they were of him for it? Hadn't it been just hours before, when he and George overhead some of their housemates whispering about the row between Ron and Granger, and how no one's seen their little brother afterwards?

George had voiced his worry then. "Shouldn't we go look for him, Fred? It isn't like Ronnie to miss the Feast."

Fred had been concerned too but he shrugged it off. "He'll be fine. He just needs some time alone. Just you wait, he'll be down here gorging on all this food any moment now."

But Ron never showed up. And by the time Quirrell had told them about the troll, the Great Hall had been such a huge, panicky mess that it was much later — when they couldn't see a tall red head among the Gryffindor first years — did they realize that Ron hadn't come back at all.

The three older Weasleys stiffly followed McGonagall to the Hospital Wing, shaken and subdued. Fred knew his twin must be drowning in guilt by now, but he didn't have the strength to reassure him that the fault was all Fred's. George had always been the "nicer" twin, the one who had a bigger conscience and a softer heart. If Ronnie getting hurt felt like a thousand punches to the gut for Fred, then it must be a hell of a lot worse for his more sensitive better half.

All those feelings grew exponentially when they were finally shown Ron, with bandages wrapped around his head, jaw and neck; and purple bruises that stood stark against his pale, freckled skin of his face and arms. Fred was frankly scared to find out why the bandages had to cover the entire right side of Ron's face.

Percy had fallen to his knees, a "Ronnie" escaping his lips in a broken whisper. Fred couldn't blame him; he felt like collapsing himself.

"He had a concussion and a head wound, from being slammed to the wall by the troll. The cuts on his face were made by broken glass, a few managed to get into his right eye. There are also a few broken bones, but nothing I couldn't mend." Madam Pomfrey informed them kindly. "I'll have to keep him here for a night or two and cover his injured eye so he can make a full recovery."

Those words did nothing to assuage the brewing storm in Fred's chest.

This should not have happened. Little Ronnie was only in his first year, a few months in Hogwarts. He was supposed to have the time of his life with the other ickle firsties, not get beaten up by a troll. His big brothers were supposed to be there to protect him from something like this. Instead, the gigantic prat that is Fred Weasley ignored his instincts and Ron had to pay the price.

What have I done? Fred felt utterly sick with guilt and rage. If only he had taken George's concern more seriously. If only they had been there to drag Ron with them to the Feast…

Bill and Charlie asked us to look after Ron. Fred numbly remembered. Oh Merlin, they are going to be beyond pissed when they find out about this. Not to mention Ginny, Mum and Dad. Hell, I'm beyond pissed at myself for letting this happen! If Charlie decides to murder me over this, I'm bloody letting him!

Percy and George had taken seats on either side of their little brother, Percy with his head on his hands while George leaned to rest his arms on Ron's bed.

The older, wilder Weasley twin stood subdued by George's on Ron's other side, a hand gingerly brushing against the still fingers.

I'm sorry, little brother. He thought morosely, his eyes burning. I'm so sorry.

Then those still fingers twitched. Then a croak, "F—Fred?"

"…Ronnie?"

By the time Ron was released from the Hospital Wing, the whole school was abuzz with news about the troll. So when he and his friends entered the Great Hall after his discharge, there was a short but noticeable hush around them before the incessant whispering similar to buzzing bees returned, though this time all eyes were on him.

Ron found the whole thing especially unnerving, especially since it hadn't been a big deal in the past. Didn't Neville say that McGonagall told their fellow Gryffindors to put a lid on their nosing in? But judging by the way most of the Gryffindor table was eyeing Ron like a dog would a cut of steak, they weren't as scared of their Head of House as they should be...

It was Harry's hand on his back that reminded Ron that this wasn't a bizarre, food-induced dream. "Let's get something to eat, Ron. I'm famished."

Ron smiled gratefully at Harry's nonplussed air. "You and me both, mate." He answered, tone as light as he could manage. "There, I see Seamus and Dean—"

"Percy! Good morning!" Hermione greeted the Gryffindor Prefect who was sitting at the edge of the Gryffindor table. "Would you mind if we sat down here?"

An unreadable emotion crossed Percy's eyes when they met Ron's, but then he nodded. "Of course not. Sit wherever you like."

Ron looked at his friend's relieved expressions strangely as Neville gently pushed him to sit in between Harry and Percy. Was there something else going on around here that he wasn't aware of?

Nevertheless, he was grateful for his friends' decision. Between Harry and Percy—both apparently capable of sporting glares as intimidating as Death's—no one had been brave enough to disturb their breakfast with the crazy rumors going on around them.

(Ron had been especially proud of Harry about this. He almost wanted to goad Malfoy into being traumatized forever by those green eyes of fiery doom. See if he'll come up with something as stupid as that "Potter Stinks" badge come fourth year!)

There was also the fact that he was in such a good mood that Hermione was their friend again. Sure, most of their conversations were about classes, but at least she wasn't acting overly competitive anymore and had seemingly taken his advice to heart. Well, she did sound a bit like a bossy know it all while discussing Potions with Neville. But Ron could tell she was trying, just as he could see Neville genuinely trying to do better at Potions instead of aiming at just making it out of every class alive. Ron didn't know what inspired the change in Neville, but he was glad for it.

All this made him more determined to convince Hermione and Neville to join the Study Clubs.

Speaking of the clubs, Ron suspected that the rumors had not escaped them either, and had been a bit nervous on how he should handle their reactions. At least during classes, meal times and in the tower, Ron's friends had taken to shooing the other students away when they were becoming too persistent, and students wouldn't dare make a ruckus at the library with Madame Pince's strict watch.

But it turned out he didn't need to be too concerned.

While there had been excitement—ranging from mild interest, like that of Professor Durand's, to eager curiosity like Professor Hui's—it was all restrained enough that it didn't make Ron want to disapparate on sight. He'd find out later that he had his friends in the Study Clubs to thank for that.

"We thought that you would have enough of dealing with those rumors and the attention out there," said Penelope. "Though you can't really blame them, can you? I mean, come on! A handful of firsties, beating a troll? I would have been a right sobbing mess if I had run into a troll in my first year!"

"The rumors are all exaggerated." Ron answered dismissively. "First off, I wasn't alone, I was with Harry, Hermione and Neville. Second, I didn't go off in a 'valiant hunt to slay a monster' or some other similar rubbish. Third, we just got lucky with the bloody thing. Who would have thought Wingardium Leviosa could be such a lifesaver?"

From his left, Sue was listening to everything with concerned air. "Honestly, I'm just so glad you weren't seriously hurt! I know you must have heard this a lot, but a mountain troll could have killed you easily! Good thing your friends were there to help." She then giggled. "I bet he must have looked so heroic, Harry Potter taking down the troll!"

"I'm sure he did, Sue." Penelope said before casting a side glance at Ron. "As sure as I am that you're downplaying your part in it too, Ronnie. I'd wager you got a couple of spells in."

"Oi, I'm not—"

"Well obviously!" Sue pat Ron's head affectionately like one would a pet cat. "He wouldn't be our Ronnie if he didn't. And it goes without saying that I'm sure he showed that mean old troll a thing or two!"

Ron flushed and sent the Ravenclaw first year a mock scowl. "Oh come on, Sue! Not you too!"

The brunette smiled innocently. "What's wrong with calling you Ronnie? I think it really suits you!"

"Nice try with the scowl, Ronnie. But you still look too cute to be intimidating." Penelope laughed before pinching one of Ron's cheeks. "Give it a few more years."

...Bloody Diggory. Ron had a half-mind to hex Cedric for always calling him that stupid nickname in front of the girls, were it not for the fact that the older Hufflepuff had been helpful in keeping the study clubs' interest in the troll incident to a tolerable degree. According to Sue, Cedric had told their clubmates to not pester Ron with what happened at Halloween, and had even at one point told off a group of Ravenclaws who cornered the red head while on the way to Ancient Runes.

Ron had been so grateful about it that he had forgotten to be outwardly miffed when Cedric ruffled his hair—"Any time, Ronnie!"—after the time traveller said his thanks.

Nevertheless, the Halloween incident had affected the way the majority of Hogwarts' population perceived him. Though most of it meant more unwanted scrutiny and expectations, there had been a number of positive changes.

By that, Ron meant a few noteworthy interactions with some of the Slytherins.

So far, the only Slytherin in Arithmancy class, Pucey, had pretty much left Ron alone. Not to say he was an arrogant sod, but Ron found him more to be the keeping to himself type of guy. When Ron had to ask him for the homework Durand had already checked and returned, Pucey had not only given him back his work without a fuss, but also outlined to Ron the topics he had missed (more linear equations) and even offered to tutor him if the redhead needed help.

That made Ron blink. "You wouldn't mind? Don't you have Quidditch practice?"

Pucey shrugged. "So? If there's something I need to do, I simply make time for it. Besides, it's part of the representative's responsibilities to help younger years struggling with the subject. Though the way I hear it, you and Li are doing all right on your own."

"Sue's amazing with numbers. I'm just trying to get by," said Ron. "So if someone's having a hard time with Arithmancy, they can go to you? No offense, but you're only in third year."

"And Li's only a first year yet she's doing better than those actually taking the elective." The Slytherin pointed out. "Arithmancy has been my strongest subject ever since I could hold a quill, Weasley. It's because of that and me being one of the upperclassmen without a lot of responsibilities that Durand made me representative."

"Oh." The time traveller said in awkward wonder. Now that he thought about it, he had seen Pucey with Cedric and another Hufflepuff—Truman, if Ron remember correctly—talking while the latter two were scribbling on their parchment. If the older student meant what he was saying, then he might really not be so bad…

The dark haired Slytherin stared at him for a second before saying, "You're thinking I'm not as bad as I look, right?"

Ron's eyes widened before his ears turned bright red. "Wh—wha—?" Shite, he didn't say it out loud, did he?

"You didn't have to, Weasley, you're a bloody open book." Pucey smirked. "And for the record, you're not so bad for a Lion. Just thought I'd put that out there."

The Slytherin then left before Ron could say another word, leaving the eighteen-turned-eleven confused over what the whole thing was about.

But just when he was close to forgetting the matter entirely, Ancient Runes happened.

It turns out that the heating rune formation they did was meant to be a sort of practical exercise so that all club participants, no matter the year level, can experience a bit of rune casting. After one week of practicing that particular formation, Hui divided the class into two groups: the younger students—from first to second years—were to practice memorizing the Elder Futhark alphabet by translating some select passages; while the older students were to practice casting runes properly.

Ron knew it was only right because first and second years were supposedly still in the process of harnessing their magical core, but he couldn't help but feel a little envious, seeing Cedric working on what looked like a three runic formation meant to shine a kind of signal light that seemed to change properties depending on the fourth rune placed…

While here I am translating a handful of lines from, The boy looked over his passage with a flat stare. The Tale of the Three Brothers. I swear, It is just messing with me at this point. But got to master the basics, right? Now what line was I on again?

"And Death spoke to them, angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was also cunning. He pretended to congratulate the brothers for their magic, and said that they each had earned a prize for being clever enough to outwit Death."

Ron was in the middle of wrapping up his translation with the runes for Death (ᛞ ᛖ ᚨ ᚦ) when he heard a cough.

"Weasley."

The boy blinked in equal parts confusion and disbelief before it registered that no, he wasn't imagining things. One of his seatmates finally decided to speak to him after months of quiet, if not aloof, coexistence.

"Oi, Weasley."

"Err, sorry, I heard you," Ron schooled his face into a neutral expression. "Nott, right? What is it?"

He watched Nott trade an unsure glance with Zabini, who barely noticeably shook his head with disbelieving eyes, before Nott caught his gaze.

"It appears that mine and Blaise's recent translations are…inadequate. Since we are three of the only first years in this club, it would be in our best interests to review each other's work before we turn them in to Professor Hui."

It took Ron another second to process what Nott just said. "So you want us to help each other out?"

Nott cleared his throat. "A mere proposition, Weasley. One we all would benefit from in the long run."

Merlin, can't these Slytherins just talk like normal folks? Ron's irritation must have shown on his face again because Zabini suddenly huffed. "If you don't want to, then just say it. I told you, Theo, it won't be—"

"I didn't say I didn't want to, Zabini," snapped Ron. "It's just that if you wanted help, just ask! Contrary to what you lot might think, I don't bite. Now give me those." The red head then snatched Nott's parchment before the two Slytherins could do anything about it.

It took Ron half a minute to read Nott's work—The Wizard and the Hopping Pot—before he picked up his quill. "It's all right, but you're meant to use fehu instead of ansuz for your F's, like here," He encircled the ᚨ at the the beginning of the word 'father'. "So you should have used ansuz for your A's instead of eihwaz. But I can see why you'll mix fehu and ansuz up. Ansuz looks more like an F than an A, doesn't it?"

"I see." Nott nodded slowly after Ron handed the parchment back. "…My thanks, Weasley."

Ron shrugged easily. "Honestly, this is way better than you pretending I don't exist. Anyway, want us to review yours, Zabini?"

The black-skinned wizard eyed his own work warily until Nott elbowed him. Zabini winced before wordlessly handing the object to Ron.

For some reason, that gave the Gryffindor the gall to wag his eyebrows. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Zabini scowled. "Shut up, Weasley."

And so ever since then, the three boys began trading homework and notes on translations while the higher years busied themselves with their rune stones. While Ancient Runes hadn't been particularly difficult for him so far (not like with Arithmancy), Ron had come to appreciate having someone else read over his work to correct it before he turned it in, not to mention it made him see a side of the two Slytherins he never would have had in his old life.

To start with, he never would have thought Zabini was passionate about Ancient Runes, having created a table of both the Elder and Younger Futhark runes and memorizing them in his spare time (which Ron figured was part of why Zabini would often mix the symbols up). Another was that Nott was pretty bloody meticulous to the point that the time traveller found it rather funny. Seriously, he never thought he'd meet someone whose handwriting is tinier and tidier than Hermione's!

(Now if only he could get them to actually speak like normal human beings…)

It wasn't a friendship, per se, but considering that they had been borderline hostile to him, Ron would take what he could get. And while he had learned his lesson to not be too pushy about making friends, Ron can't help but hope that things would go that way in the future. Or at least, to the point that he would be sure Nott and Zabini won't be something to worry about someday.

Because Ron at the moment already had a bit on his plate, more than being pestered for what really happened back with the troll—like Charlie's old wand.

Ron couldn't believe that it took him nearly getting his friends hurt to see that he had to do something about it soon. After the troll incident, the wand had seemingly assumed a driftwood state, cold and lifeless at Ron's hands, neither a hindrance nor a help. It was fine as it is for now, but Ron knew that more was to come this year, and he can't allow himself to be dragged down by a wand that seemingly hates him.

But what can he do about it?

It was what he started mulling over as soon as he got caught up with all the school and club work, his readings and thawing the flames of interest on the Halloween disaster. Speaking of readings, Ron had picked up a book on wandlore to learn more about the problem, and what he read didn't shed a single bit of light on the solution.

"The ash wand cleaves to its one true master and ought not to be passed on or gifted from the original owner, because it will lose power and skill. This tendency is extreme if paired with a core of unicorn."

Well Celestina Warbeck's pants, I do have the best kind of luck. Ron growled at the memory of that annoying passage. Of all the second hand wands, I just have to get the one that is the least cooperative. OK, so second hand wands are always a bad idea, but not even Neville had this much trouble with his! This wand is just as stubborn as Charlie, for Merlin's sake!

But the book said that the ash wand will lose power and skill if it was passed on, right? But I get the feeling that that's not what's happening with this thing. It's as if it's holding back on purpose, then suddenly letting out that power all in one go. His blue eyes darkened in bemusement. Are wands supposed to be able to do that? I know they're made of magical materials, and Ollivander always kept saying 'the wand chooses the wizard'. But the way Charlie's old wand is acting…as if it has a will of its own…

"For the love of Merlin, Weasley, get your head out of the clouds and focus!"

A heated reprimand from Ron's left made the boy flinch and wince apologetically. "Err, my bad."

Greengrass' eyes were glaring daggers from where she stood near their cauldron. "If I catch you one more time, I swear to all things magical, I will push you headfirst into that cauldron! Now where are those lionfish spines and the flobberworm mucus? The potion's almost red!"

"All right, all right, I said I was sorry already! Merlin, woman!" He hissed under his breath before getting the aforementioned spines.

Maybe worrying about this over Potions isn't the best idea. The boy conceded after he wordlessly handed the ingredients to his Potions partner. Forget Snape, I'm more worried about Greengrass actually making good of her threat. Bloody girl's already a right fright and she's only eleven! It's official, Slytherins are weird!

For this week, the class was set to brew the Wiggenweld Potion, which was one of the more complicated first year potions. Ron wasn't too worried about how theirs would turn out, but since perfectionism seems to be a common trait among Slytherins he knew (save for Malfoy and his cronies), Greengrass was on edge while making sure that the potion meets those expectations.

And me spacing out must be not helping. Ron winced again, this time out of guilt. "I'm really sorry, Greengrass. I just have a lot in mind lately."

For a minute, it looked like Greengrass was going to give him the cold shoulder over focusing on the cauldron, until she held out a hand. "Flobberworm mucus."

After Ron gave her the bowl of the stuff, and a few seconds of stirring, she spoke again. "If you were anyone else, I would have thought it would be about the upcoming Quidditch game. Almost everyone loses their focus during the season."

Ron blinked then gasped. "It's already Quidditch season?"

"You're not even aware." Greengrass huffed. "That just proves my point. But considering that it will be the first time Potter plays for you House as a Seeker, and he's your best friend, shouldn't you know better than I that it's the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match next week?"

"How do you even—? Wait, never mind, it's Hogwarts. Secrets never stay secret." Ron remembered Harry coming back later than usual and sometimes missing their morning jogs lately, then it clicked. "Oh shite, I'm a terrible friend! I can't believe I forgot about Harry's first game."

"You have a few more days to get back into Potter's good graces about it." Greengrass said dismissively. "Not that I think you'll need it, after you saved him and your other friends from that troll."

Ron rolled his eyes. "I did not save them. I helped them beat it."

"Please, Weasley. Potter, I can begin to believe, but the other two? Longbottom can barely hold himself together around Professor Snape. And how did Granger help you? Spout by the book lines at the troll and lecture it to death?"

"Watch it, Greengrass." He snapped lowly. "Neville and Hermione are far braver than you think. How would you have done if it had been you who was there?"

"That's easy. I wouldn't even be there." The blonde girl said coolly. "Unlike you Gryffindors, we Slytherins know when to fight and when to bid our time or back down. I wouldn't have gone after a troll or anything remotely dangerous unless I had a very good reason."

"They were worried about me because I didn't show up at the Feast. That counts as a very good reason." Ron countered. "So if anyone's to blame for that shite going south, it's me."

Green eyes gave him an appraising side glance. "Right. That monumental row you had with Granger."

The boy felt his ears burn. "Even you lot have heard of that?"

"You two weren't exactly whispering back then, were you?" She shook her head. "Honestly, I don't understand why you've tried so hard. She wasn't going to be any good to you."

"Meaning?"

"All Granger has going for her is her smarts. A little too by the books but smart nonetheless. But you are capable enough to pass school without her, so she's no help there." Greengrass ticked a finger up to prove her point. "If not for that, then what else is she good for? She's terrible with people, and she's a muggleborn, both of which won't help you make any right connections."

Bloody Slytherin "everything I associate with has to be useful to me" mentality. The Weasley boy exhaled slowly. "It's not about what she's good for, Greengrass. Being someone's friend doesn't have to be based on how useful they will be." A short pause. "I wanted to be her friend…just because."

Greengrass raised a brow. "Just because?"

"She's bossy. She's not good with people. She can be so stubborn that she drives me barmy. But then, she's also loyal. She looks out for others even when she's bad at looking out for herself. And she knows she isn't good with making friends, which is why she keeps trying to do better." Ron went on. "Sure, she could be mighty helpful someday. But it's not about that for me. Never have been. Someone's my friend because I like them, and it doesn't take a lot for me to want to be their friend."

(In the past, that would have been a bit of a lie, as the old Ron wouldn't have gone anywhere near a Slytherin if he could help it. But that was exactly what the Ron now would want to be. And just like Hermione, he was doing his best to get to that point too.)

"Also, while I've come to learn to not be too pushy about making friends, I'd still like to get it across that the offer is open. To most anyway."

"By most, you mean?"

"Well, you, to start with. Maybe two or three more Slytherins."

Ron felt smug satisfaction at watching Greengrass' face slacken in surprise, nearly dropping her ladle. "Wh—what?"

"I mean that, if you somehow find yourself in trouble with a troll or something like that, you can count on me to help bail you out. Or at least be a very good distraction for the getaway plan." He shrugged with a cheeky smile. "Just because."

The fumes of the Wiggenweld potion must be messing with his vision, because why did Greengrass' normally ivory face look rather pink all of a sudden?

A look in the cauldron made Ron blink in confusion. "But it's yellow. That doesn't make any—"

There was a clatter of a wooden bowl.

"Honey, Weasley!"

"Oi, I'm right next to you. No need to shout—!"

"Honey. Now!"

"Merlin, Greengrass, what the hell's your problem this time?!"

While Potions ended on a rather weird note (Greengrass wouldn't meet his eyes for the rest of the class), Ron had his partner to thank for reminding him of Harry's upcoming game. Not only because it was an important event in his best friend's life, but also because it was the first time that Harry's life had been in real danger.

Knowing this, Ron couldn't find a good reason to keep Harry from playing. Dumbledore and Snape were there, and Hagrid will be there to help Ron guide his friends to stop Quirrel. Not to mention the unique way Harry caught the Snitch at the time had been both memorable and useful to them in the future.

And even if he had said good reason, how is he even going to make it happen? Oliver would skin him alive without magic if Ron tried anything, and he remembered Harry really, really looking forward to the game, no matter how nervous it made him.

Which brought Ron to the next important bit.

Should he convince his friends that, despite seemingly convincing evidence, it wasn't Snape but Quirrel who is the real threat? Ron knew he would be hard-pressed to do so, especially after Snape pulled the same stunt of confiscating Quidditch Through the Ages from Harry, which led to Harry seeing Snape's leg wound and overhearing the man complaining about Fluffy.

Neville, who had never liked their Potions Professor, had readily agreed with Harry's conclusion that Snape tried to get past the trapdoor last Halloween after letting the troll loose as as a distraction. Hermione, on the other hand, was still on the fence about it.

"I know he's not very nice, but I don't think he'd try to steal something that Dumbledore is protecting," argued Hermione.

"Not very nice is a huge understatement," said Neville. "I don't know about the Headmaster, but I wouldn't trust Snape. Besides, what other reason could he have for getting anywhere near that dog?"

"…I don't know, mates, I'm with Hermione on this one." Ron tried to convince his two other friends. "I get why you think Snape's suspicious, but isn't he a little too suspicious? For all we know he's just a red herring."

Neville blinked. "A herring? Why would Snape be a fish?"

"It just means that Snape is some sort of distraction, misdirecting us from the real culprit. At least in this context." Hermione explained while shooting Ron an approving look. "I'm impressed, Ron. I'm surprised you know that muggle expression!"

The red head coughed, covering up his cold sweat over the slip-up. He only knew about that term because Hermione used it once. "May have heard it from someone at home. Dad loves everything about muggles, and Bill and Percy took up Muggle Studies.

"Anyway, what's important is that we still don't have enough proof that Snape was trying to steal the—whatever it is in that trapdoor. We don't even know what it is or why it's so important." Ron clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Let's all just turn in so we can be ready for Harry's big game tomorrow. I bet a good lot of my money on you catching that Snitch, Potter, so you better shape up. But no pressure."

Harry blanched. "You didn't!"

Of course not. Ron didn't even have the bare minimum needed to enter the underground Quidditch betting pool, which was a darn shame. But if it would keep Harry distracted from Snape and the trapdoor, the red head decided to leave his best mate guessing.

The following day, Harry looked as dreadful as Ron remembered, hardly looking at his plate by the time the time traveller arrived at the Great Hall after his morning run.

"You've got to eat something, Harry!" Hermione said in exasperation and worry. "You might end up falling off your broom from hunger if you don't!"

"I'm really not hungry, Hermione."

"Just a bit of toast, mate." Neville tried next.

"I think I'll just throw it all back up, Nev."

"Harry, you need to eat up. Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the opposing team. And since it's the Slytherins, you could be in for a rough game."

The poor Seeker looked as green as his opponents' house color. "…Thanks, Seamus."

"Leave him alone, Seamus. Harry's too small and quick for those guys. Dumbledore of flying, remember?" Ron unceremoniously dumped a couple of toasts on Harry's plate.

"R—Ron, I just said—!"

"Eat, Potter. I'm not losing that bet just because you're too hungry to mount your broom."

There was a scowling match between green and blue eyes before Harry finally bit in to his toast. Behind the black haired boy's back, Ron and Neville traded high fives.

Come eleven o'clock, Harry joined the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team to change, while Ron, Hermione and Neville went to the West Ham fan top row, the Potter for President banner in tow. But instead of it being the result of collaborating with just Seamus and Dean, Ron, with Hermione's help, managed to convince the girls to contribute. While they had been surprised, Hermione's dorm mates leapt at the opportunity to do something artistic in support of their Seeker.

Since Ron kept Pettigrew locked up throughout their stay in Hogwarts, the sheet they used for banner was flawless, almost looking brand new. And thanks to Lavender (who possessed the designer direction better than Dean's), the resulting lettering and drawings were better laid out, and between the two artists, they were even able to create golden leaf borders, two Gryffindor lions on either side of the banner, and even a large Snitch. Parvati (finally, Ron got her name right!) and the other girls even procured sequins that made the lions sparkle while Hermione did her trick so that the letters flashed different colors.

Neville had gaped in awe when the group stepped back to admire their work. "This looks amazing! Harry will definitely love this!"

"He bloody better." Ron joked while trying to scrub off the paint he got on his cheek. "It's been a nightmare making this from under his nose."

Nonetheless, it had been a piece of art, one that the Gryffindor first years proudly waved in the stands to the cheers of their house. Ron couldn't see Harry's reaction to it, but from what Ron could remember, he was sure his best mate was pleased.

"Blimey, tha' banner sure is something!"

A huge smile bloomed on Ron's face as Hermione and Neville waved. "Hagrid!"

The half-giant eyed their group fondly before saying, "Budge up a bit 'ere. Bin watchin' from me hut, but it's not the same as bein' in the crowd, yeah? No sign of the Snitch yet?"

"No." Ron answered, before pointing at his best friend who was doing some loops. "Harry's just there letting out some steam."

"Best he keep outta the way 'til he finds it. Them Slytherins will be on to him once he does."

Ron nodded with a blank face, even while everyone around—including Hermione—burst in to cheers when Angelina Johnson scored again. He ought to show some investment in the game (especially since his friends were under the impression that he had bet on Harry), but his stomach was too queasy with anticipation. While he knew Harry's broom could get jinxed any moment now, he couldn't remember exactly when.

So instead of staring that the field, he kept his eyes trained on the stand where Snape and Quirrel were, looking for any sign that the former had begun casting his jinx. But with how far they were, the eighteen-turned-eleven could hardly make out anything.

There was also the temptation to excuse himself to distract Snape by himself. But he hadn't mastered Hermione's bluebell flames spell yet and an Incendio will cause too much damage, especially with a wand as unstable as his current one.

Besides, this was Hermione's moment. Could he really take that from her?

"RED CARD!"

"Ouch, watch it!" Ron growled at Dean who had stomped at his foot before his mind caught up with what was said. "What even is a—?"

"Red card!" His fellow Gryffindor repeated, looking close to foaming in the mouth with rage. "In soccer, you get shown the red card and you're out of the game."

"Why are you even bringing up soccer—?"

"Didn' yeh see, Ron?" Hagrid was positively fuming next to him. "That Slytherin lug nearly knocked Harry off his broom! Crashed righ' into 'im, the big prude!"

Ron shifted his gaze back to the field, where he found Harry looking a bit shaken. His eyes couldn't have found a better time, because a few seconds later, after the black-haired boy ducked away from a Bludger, it happened.

The red head wizard's heart leapt to his throat when Harry suddenly stopped flying. "Hagrid, your binoculars!"

"Wha—?" Not giving the half giant time to clarify, Ron seized the apparatus and looked to see Harry jerking to and fro, holding on for dear life as the Nimbus Two Thousand appeared determined to shake him off.

It's time! He hesitated for a split second before shaking his head.

This was not his moment, nor will it ever be.

"Hermione, Neville, look!"

The two squinted in confusion at the direction Ron pointed.

"What's Harry doing?" Neville squinted in bewilderment. "Is he going higher up? The Snitch can't be—"

Ron shoved the binoculars into Neville's hands. "That's not him. Look. He's lost control of his broom!"

"He what?!" Hermione whispered sharply, taking the binoculars from Neville who had gone pale after seeing Harry through them. "But—but how?"

It was around this time that the crowd finally noticed that there was something wrong with Harry, who was steadily going higher and higher away, the broom jerking and budging as it went.

"What the hell's with Harry's broom?" Seamus asked out loud. "Did Flint break it somehow?"

"Can't have." Hagrid answered, looking utterly disturbed. "It's a Nimbus Two Thousand. No ordinary magic could break it like that—!"

"I knew it!" Hermione said breathlessly, her eyes flashing as she met Ron's and Neville's. "Snape! Look at him! He's doing something to the broom! I bet he's jinxing it!"

"Snape?" Neville's eyes went to the opposite stand where Snape was then back to Hermione and Ron. "We have to do something!"

Their bushy-haired friend's gaze hardened before bringing out her wand. "Leave that to me."

"It was Snape!"

Ron blinked languidly, rather sure that it used to be him who said that in the first timeline. Yet here he was, sipping his tea with a detached sort of calm while Neville and Hermione excitedly explained to Harry what happened.

After Hermione lit Snape's robes on fire again, everything ended the same way it had in the past, with Harry nearly swallowing the snitch and winning the game. The Gryffindors were ecstatic, and Ron suspected that a party is already underway back at the tower. But instead of joining their House mates, the four of them managed to slip away for some tea at Hagrid's, where Harry listened to them with rapt attention.

"We saw him, Harry!" Neville went on. "He was cursing your broomstick, wouldn't take his eyes off you. Hermione said he was casting some sort of jinx!"

"Rubbish!" Hagrid exclaimed. "Snape wouldn't do that!"

"I thought so too, but I know what I saw, Hagrid!" Hermione countered with as much zeal as Neville. "I've read all about jinxes. You're supposed to maintain eye contact for it to be effective. Snape hadn't been blinking when I saw him, and you all saw that Harry's broom stopped trying to throw him off after I distracted him!"

Harry frowned. "Must be because of what I saw last time. He knows we're on to him!"

Hagrid rubbed his head in confusion. "On to him 'bout what?"

When Harry told him about Snape's mangled leg and his suspicions, the gamekeeper dropped his teapot.

"How'd you know 'bout Fluffy?"

All the children except Ron chorused incredulously. "Fluffy?"

"He's mine. Bought him off a chappie from Greece. Lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—" Hagrid then caught himself with a shake of his head. "Never you mind. Top secret, that one is."

Neville's brow furrowed. "But Snape's trying to steal, well, whatever it is!"

"'Course he's not! Snape's a Hogwarts teacher! He's not going to do that!"

"He tried to kill Harry!" Hermione said fretfully. "Why would he if he's really innocent?"

"…Maybe because he wasn't. Trying to kill Harry, I mean."

It was the first time Ron spoke since the whole exchange, making all eyes wheel to his direction.

Ron put down his teacup and cleared his throat. "You're right, Hermione, some jinxes do need to keep eye contact when they're being cast. But the same can be said for counter jinxes, especially for those jinxes that need said eye contact."

A shocked look crossed Hermione's features, obviously not having considered that possibility. "Counter jinxes, of course! Why hadn't I thought of that?"

Ron wasn't surprised, because it was so easy to think of Snape as the bad guy.

Harry's brows furrowed. "You can't be serious! You're telling me that Snape was actually trying to save me?"

Yes. "I'm just presenting another possibility, until we're completely sure that it really was a jinx Snape was casting."

Neville frowned. "But if it wasn't Snape, then who else could it be?"

"Anyone who's there and who can do it, really." Ron shrugged. "Honestly, I don't think being a Hogwarts teacher will stop anyone from doing something bad."

"Including Snape." Harry said stubbornly.

Ron exhaled loudly. "Fine, including Snape."

Hagrid stared at the children open mouthed before snapping it closed with a frown. "I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong! I don't know why Harry's broom acted like that, but it wasn't Snape or any of the teachers! An' yeh four listen to me—yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh so jus' let it go! Whatever's in that trapdoor is between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicholas Flamel—"

"Aha!" Harry exclaimed in excitement. "So there is someone else involved named Nicholas Flamel!"

Ron couldn't help but wince in sympathy at the way Hagrid looked beyond furious with himself. Sorry, Hagrid, but Harry's got to find out about Flamel from somebody.

Dear Ginny,

Sorry it's been a while since my last letter. I know I promised to write as often as I can, but there's just so much to see and do here at Hogwarts! I know it's not an excuse to neglect my little spitfire, though, so I hope the Bertie Bott's beans I sent with this letter is a good enough peace offering.

Most of the classes are amazing as usual. All the Professors are really working us hard, especially Professor McGonagall, who's also our Head of House. She can be like Aunt Muriel, strict and a bit scary, but way nicer. Everyone will tell you that she is fair with all the students, but between you and me, I think the way she piles so much homework on the Gryffindors is her way of showing how much she favors us. We just don't know how to appreciate it yet.

By the way, I didn't write you this the last time because it was supposed to be a secret, but guess who's the Gryffindor Quidditch team's new seeker? It's Harry Potter! At first year! They said it hasn't happened in a century! You should see him fly, Gin! I swear, he's the Albus Dumbledore of flying! You won't believe he hasn't had a broom his whole life! And even better news? We won our first game against Slytherin! And Harry caught the Snitch! The other team made a big deal about Harry nearly swallowing it so it doesn't count. But a catch is a catch. Besides, we were way ahead in points thanks to our Chasers. Can't wait to see you as one of them someday. You'll leave the other team eating the dust!

Mum mentioned that she's been sending you to the Fawcetts since the Lovegoods are out. Don't remember much about them, but don't they have a girl around yours and Luna's age? Hope that means you're not being too lonely. Oh, and I don't know if Mum and Dad mentioned this to you, but last Halloween, a troll got into the school! But don't worry, it was taken care of pretty quickly, and no one got seriously hurt. Other than that and the Quidditch game, nothing else exciting's happened. That doesn't mean that Hogwarts is a boring place! Trust me, Gin, you'll love it here!

Percy, Fred and George are fine, as always. The twins still causing trouble with their pranks and Perce not being able to do much about them. Doesn't matter how much the old caretaker, Filch, confiscates. It's like they have a bottomless bag of their prank stuff!

And I guess that's all for now. Will let you know if there's any other interesting stuff going on around here.

Love,

Ron

PS: Dad mentioned that you three will be spending the holidays in Romania with Charlie. Try not to get too attached to those dragons, OK? One dragon tamer in the family's enough, at least according to Mum.

But if you ask me, I think dragons are pretty cool, especially if I can get to ride them. What do you think?

"...By the way, Ron, what happened to the bet? Since Harry won, you must have made quite a bit!"

Ron looked up from his parchment to Neville in confusion. "Huh? What bet? I didn't bet on anything."

He then nearly dropped his quill when he saw Harry look up from his homework to shoot Ron the green eyes of fiery doom. It was enough to refresh Ron's memory far too late. Oh bugger.

"H—Hey, Harry, mate, can't we talk about this—?"

"You have a five seconds head start, Weasley."

"Can I take that as a 'maybe'?"

"Three."

"...Shite!"

At least Neville had the decency to look apologetic when Harry chased Ron all the way out into the Great Lake.

It didn't occur to me at the time, but the troll incident not being a bigger deal than it was in the books bothered me somewhat. Good thing no one was hurt, but the fact that the troll managed to get in is a huge security breach, one that someone like Lucius Malfoy could have taken advantage of in ousting Dumbledore (or at least in taking points off the Headmaster's credibility). But seeing as there was no further mention of the incident's impact—at least, none Harry was able to tell—safe to say that it was wrapped up before word got out of the troll or the Golden Trio's involvement.

Which I found very highly unlikely given how humans can be onto gossip like a bloodhound on a scent.

Another shameless plug before you leave: I have a new fanfic posted in AO3—a Ron and Regulus Black centric one—so if you're interested, please give Pendragon: House of Pendragon a try. Also, I'm thinking of posting TBA on AO3 as well. But we'll see.

UP NEXT:

While Harry and the others are busy digging out information about Mr. Flamel, Ron finally does something about a certain rat. Will his plan go off without a hitch? Ron sure hopes so!

Chapter Text

Again, many thanks to my lovely beta A. C. nelli for their time and effort on TBA. Much appreciated!

I won't keep you any longer, because despite my best efforts at brevity, this went beyond 10K. There's just so much going on in this chapter and there seems to be no good place to cut it (unlike the Halloween one).

Enjoy it anyways? And also the new cover art?

(coughs)

Chapter Ten:

The Pettigrew Problem

The air grew colder and the first signs of snow fell as the Holidays drew nearer, and most of the student body was tittering with excitement over the upcoming festivities and the break soon to follow. Already, the halls were decked with garlands of red ribbons, shiny gold and silver balls, bells and mistletoe; beautiful crystalline snowflakes and stardust fell from the Great Hall's sky blue ceiling past holly studded candles; Hagrid could be seen dragging pine tree after pine tree ready to be put up and dressed into ornament laden Christmas trees; and recent conversation among the populace turned to talks on where and how they will be spending the holidays (as well as who will and will not be staying over at school for the break).

But for some, the coming season was not the only thing they had in mind.

For Harry, Hermione and Neville, the three were eager to find out more about who this Nicholas Flamel person was since Hagrid let that secret slip. But just as it had been in the old timeline, they weren't getting anywhere close to finding out a single thing about the ancient wizard. The frustration was so palpable on his friends' faces that Ron had been tempted to just tell them outright. However, he also felt that the effort they are putting in on the research would work in their favor in the long run. At the very least, it gave Hermione and Ron a perfect excuse to encourage Harry and Neville to finish their homework.

And if he was being entirely honest, Ron's focus was completely elsewhere.

Christmas is coming soon. The red head thought to himself, idly spinning Charlie's old wand between his fingers while waiting for his fellow club members at the Ancient Runes club classroom. With Harry at Quidditch practice, and Hermione and Neville coming to watch (at the latter's insistence for a break from all those books), Ron figured going to the club earlier for some time alone to think. Which means I have to hurry up with my plan for that rat. If I play my cards right, Sirius will be free before the holidays, and maybe with Sirius being released earlier, he can get Harry out of those bloody muggles' place. To think Harry had to live in that hellhole for seventeen years in the past, just because of some blood magic. As if there was no other way.

While admittedly, according to Hermione, the blood protection magic was pretty strong stuff and may not be easy to replicate. But was it worth the years of emotional abuse and neglect Harry had to suffer in the Dursleys' hands? The thought of letting it happen left that awfully bad taste in Ron's mouth the same way the thought of letting Ginny anywhere near Riddle's Diary again would.

(Not to mention the fact that not doing anything about Pettigrew would mean letting an innocent bloke stay longer in Azkaban.)

So screw Dumbledore with this one, Ron will find a way to get Sirius out of Azkaban and give Harry a shot at having a real, loving family.

What I need now is the right time to do it. Now let me see where—

"Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley."

—GAH! Ron nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice piped up from his left. "Professor Hui?"

The goblin lecturer smiled in serene amusement at his reaction. "My, were you in the middle of an internalized debate? I apologize for intruding then."

"A—ah, no, I was just…err, thinking of something. Nothing too important." Ron said quickly.

"Ho? But, if I may say so, your rather intense expression earlier tells me otherwise." Hui then shrugged. "Not that it is any of my business, but I hope it is not indicative of any trouble?"

The red head shook his head quickly. "No, Professor Hui."

Hui's beady eyes on him were sharp, and Ron felt for a moment that he was under the scrutinizing gaze of his Head of House. But the look was gone in the next moment when Hui nodded with a smile. "For your sake, I would hope so. One troll is enough adventure for this year, isn't it?"

You have no idea, Professor. Ron kept his eyes on the short lecturer who made his way to the desk. The boy then blinked owlishly when he saw Hui draw a wand from his robe and waved it about.

Stacks of papers re-arranged itself into separate columns on the desk, and the stones laid out on the wood became smooth of the ink previously on their surfaces. But what Ron focused most on is the fact that—

"You have a wand, Professor Hui?" Ron then blushed in embarrassment at his outburst. "I mean, sorry, it's just that—"

"—you thought goblins are not allowed to use wands, yes?" But Hui waved the apology away. "It's no problem, Mr. Weasley. My goblin features are so strong that most of my students mistake me for a full one on first sight. My wife always said that I should let my students know of my heritage when I first meet them, but sometimes I forget." The goblin tapped his chin. "Although I do remember having used my wand several times before during class…"

"Oh, so you're a half-goblin then?" Ron said hurriedly, wishing his ears would stop burning over him making a fool out of himself again. "Like Professor Flitwick, from Charms?"

"From my mother's side, bless her soul. Passed on to the great beyond just a few years back," said Hui. "So indeed, I am legally allowed to own a wand. But I find it a huge pity, the fact that my goblin kin are not allowed to wield it. Wands are some of the most fascinating conduits for magic, I think. One of the few that are as unique as the wizard who wields them, and have enough magic in them to become quite sentient."

"Sentient?" Ron leaned forward, very interested. "As in, they can have a will of their own?"

"Seeing as how they are made of parts of creatures and magical wood, certainly." Hui nodded with a smile. "Look at it this way: of all those you will meet in life, there are some who are more drawn, more compatible to you than others, yes? Wands work the same way. Some will respond to you better than the others you will try in, say, a wand shop. But that is not the end of it! As the wizard and wand spend more time together, the wand is strongly influenced by its wielder's traits. Some may even take on those traits themselves."

Ron took all of Hui's words on this with a growing sense of awe. That explains a lot about Charlie's old wand then! Bloody thing must have gotten a bit of his hard-headedness too! Not to mention the temper!

"But if I may ask, why the interest in wandlore, Mr. Weasley? Are you perhaps looking to become a wandmaker yourself?"

"Huh?" Ron caught up with the conversation in time to hear the question. "Oh no, not at all. It's just—well," He raised his wand. "This used to be my brother's wand, but since we couldn't—I mean, my parents passed it on to me. It hasn't been the most cooperative wand. I managed to work my way around it for a while, but lately, it's been," He paused to consider his words. "Difficult. Yeah, it's been difficult."

"Is that so?" Hui's eyes shone with interest. "It is ill-advised to pass wands around like an heirloom. Not just because of the compatibility problem, but because some wands perceive it as an insult, and the inheritor will get the brunt of its anger." Hui held out a hand. "May I see it?"

Ron handed Charlie's old wand to the half-goblin, who studied its length from behind gold-rimmed lenses.

"Hmm, ash wood, 12 inches. And its core?"

"Unicorn tail hair."

"Ah, even more challenging." Hui said, his smile dropping slightly. "One of the most devoted wands one can get, bordering to obstinate. And from the way it feels," His thin fingers held it aloft. "The wand is, for the lack of a better term, furious with you."

Ron winced. "I thought as much. But I read somewhere that incompatible wands weaken the wielder's magic, yeah? It's that way sometimes with this wand," the levitation charm class came to mind. "But there are times when it actually overpowered my spells. Does that make sense?"

Hui paused thoughtfully. "I can see it happen. Most wand woods and even some cores, such as dragon heartstring and basilisk fang, are capable of storing a limited amount of magic. Perhaps your brother's wand, in an act of rebellion, acted out by hoarding a bit of it then letting go without warning? Or perhaps latching onto your energy, forcing too much of it all at once? Wandlore is an incredibly complicated study, Mr. Weasley, because its focus is on what can be considered a created living being that is, to a degree, similar to homunculi, shabti, shikigami—"

"Homunculi?" Ron felt his tongue twist at the foreign words. "Shae—? Shike—?"

Hui coughed. "Apologies, I went off topic. Another time, perhaps."

"…Right. But is there any way for it to be, err, less furious with me? My family…we can't really get a new wand right now. Especially since my sister will be starting here next year."

Hui frowned. "There could be a way, but I won't advise it for long term. You would never be able to reach your full potential with a wand that didn't choose you."

"And it won't be long term. Just enough to get me by the year. Please, Professor."

Hui stroked his chin thoughtfully after returning Charlie's old wand. "While ash wood wands are some of the most easily offended, they are also some of the most loyal. This is all theoretical, mind you, but I would wager that it still has some attachment to your brother. If you could get him to ask the wand to work for you, it might help."

The eighteen-turned-eleven blinked owlishly. "That's it? Charlie just needs to ask it nicely?"

"Respect goes a long way in this world, Mr. Weasley. That goes for wizards and magical creatures as well as for wands. Granted, this is all just in theory and, again, not an ideal long-term solution. You would do best to find your own wand in the near future."

Ron nodded, already knowing that he'll get a new wand come third year. "That was amazing, Professor Hui! How'd you know so much about wands?"

The half-goblin coughed. "When I am not lecturing or assisting Professor Babbling, I indulge in crafting and inventing things, including wands."

"Wicked! So you're like the Mr. Ollivander of the goblin race!"

Hui smiled. "I can only hope to reach the same level of talent as their esteemed family." He then paused thoughtfully. "Hmm, now that I think about it…perhaps this is fate."

"Sorry?"

"I have a proposition for you, Mr. Weasley. If you're willing, I wish to take you on as a prospective client. I will make a wand for you based on my assessment of you and, if the wand is a good fit, you may keep it as payment for your time."

"Wh—what?!" Ron's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "You—you'd give me a new wand? Just like that?!"

"I've been making wands for a few of my friends and clients, but they are mostly from the East, and I have been looking for someone here in Europe to network with. Unfortunately, most wizards here are still strongly prejudiced against those of goblin blood, so it has been, ah, trying. But you look like the sort who can see past that, can't you?"

Ron coughed. "Well, to be honest, most of the goblins I've met are a bit on the mean side. But you're all right in my books, Professor Hui. Would be nice if there are more goblins like you, really. Err, yeah you're a half-goblin but, you know what I mean."

"Perfectly." Hui nodded easily. "But trust me on this, there are nicer goblins out there. It just takes a while to get them to warm up to you."

"Anyway, back on topic, if I agree to try out your wands and find one that is perfect for me, I get to keep it for free?" The familiar uncomfortable churning at the thought of receiving any charity was back in Ron's gut at the thought. It was a known family pet peeve of the Weasleys to frown upon any of the sort, having survived long hard days of meager necessities with nothing but their wit and resilience. Also, he had been taught that accepting charity was a way of inconveniencing someone else.

"A true Weasley," Septimus Weasley once said. "Would rather bear all the weight of the world than to be a source of trouble for anyone."

"Not completely free," answered Hui. "I'll be keeping tabs on how the wand performs every now and then. And I will need you to demonstrate some spells for me so I can have a visual review. Of course, if sometime in the future, you will be able to buy a wand, you can still keep my creation as a spare should you need it. I only ask that you practice with it every now and then. The same need for periodical reviews still apply, after all, and the wand might feel neglected if you leave it for too long."

"But say I—well—do something to earn the wand? I, I don't have any—" Ron coughed. "That is to say, I can maybe—"

"There is no need for payment, because this is, as a business person would say, a test run," said Hui. "This will warrant further discussion should you choose to agree, but unlike Mr. Garrick Ollivander, I plan to be more of a personal wandmaker."

"A personal wandmaker?"

"It is a tradition known only by the most privileged of families here in Great Britain. In fact, some, albeit distant, members of the Ollivander family continue to be personal wandmakers to this day," said Hui. "Recall what I said about wands being some of the most unique magical conduit? While it is true that there is a high chance you will find a wand that is a good match for you in a wand shop, only a wand that is truly made for you can unleash your fullest potential. That is what a personal wandmaker does: study their clients, find the ideal wood and cores based on their findings, then measure and fine tune their compatibility. Even personalize the appearance of the wand, like say, carve int into an unusual shape or add ornaments. Of course, it is a very time-consuming process, and very specific. That is why only the wealthy can afford their services."

Add ornaments? Like Malfoy Sr.'s snake-headed wand? Ron mentally scoffed. Wouldn't be surprised if that loaded elitist prick can afford a personal wandmaker… "So why are you offering yours to me?"

"Because for one that is not yet well-reputed, becoming an established personal wandmaker is the best way to start their career." Hui answered smoothly. "Now, I am not planning on being a wandmaker full-time, but I do intend to become an established personal one at some point, and you will become one of my early prospects in Great Britain. Not to mention I will learn more from crafting wands from my experience with you, no doubt, so from my view, I am getting as much out of this as you are."

Now that he puts it that way… Ron mulled over the offer. All things considered, it's not a bad deal. Professor Hui seems to be a decent bloke who really know his stuff.

Besides, there is the idea of owning a wand made by someone other than an Ollivander—personally made for him to boot—that sounded so appealing…

Ron nodded. "So how do you want this to go, exactly?"

Hui's face became as bright as a Lumos Maxima.

It was a chilly but clear afternoon when Ron knocked on the open door of the Transfiguration classroom, a few hours before meeting with the Arithmancy club while his friends went off to dinner (except for Harry, who had to attend Wood's daily Quidditch practices, the poor bloke.) "Professor McGonagall?"

The Gryffindor Head of House looked up from the papers she was grading on her desk with a nod. "Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Weasley?"

A relieved smile appeared on Ron's face as he strode into the classroom. "If you're not too busy, Professor. Just wanted to ask about something I read. You said I ought not to practice advanced magic on my own, and I reckon that makes a lot of sense. But this got me real curious, and since you're the Transfiguration professor, I thought you'd be the best person to ask."

By the end of his sentence, he had reached the nearest desk, plopped his things onto it, and pulled one of the books from his stack.

Transform Thyself: A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration for N.E.W.T and Beyond

It had been a bloody pain to find this particular book, because it was one of the few in the library that carried information on the particular subject he wanted. It was a good thing that Pince had become so used to seeing him in her domain and nosing in on higher year level texts that he was able to get some recommendations, or he would have spent far too long looking around.

McGonagall's brows rose when she saw the embossed words on the cover. "That is sixth year level reading material, Mr. Weasley."

"Not trying anything on it, I swear. But I have to say, what I've read so far is really interesting!" Ron leafed through some of the pages. "Turning flesh into steel. The human head into that of another animal's. But there's one thing that really got to me." He then turned the book around when he found the right (pre-dog eared) section for the professor to see.

A small smile flitted across McGonagall's lips. "Ah, yes, Animagi."

"The book said that it is the pinnacle of Transfiguration mastery, and that it is so difficult that only a few wizards can do it!" Ron only had to partially fake his excitement. The idea of becoming an Animagus had been fascinating to him since he found out the truth about the Marauders. It always made him curious how they managed to do it as third years and what animal he could have been if he and his friends managed to do it themselves.

Not to mention the fact that this section is the perfect excuse for knowing about Animagi in the first place, thought Ron. Which is exactly what I need for this plan to work.

(Besides, if he was going to have to live with being mistaken for a studious magical prodigy, might as well get some use out of it!)

McGonagall pushed up her glasses. "Human transfiguration is the most dangerous of all the sub-branches of the subject. There are too many ways it can go wrong, and when something goes wrong in human transfiguration, more often than not, the damage is irreversible. It is why it cannot be emphasized enough that practicing such techniques is strictly within N.E.W.T level. On the other hand, those who do have the talent for and the dedication to Transfiguration, such as those who seek to apply for its Mastery, are required to be able to do all applications of Transfiguration successfully, including the Animagus transformation."

Ron pretended to be shocked. "Does that mean you're an Animagus too, Professor?"

The old woman's eyes glowed. "But of course! After all, one of the requirements of being a core subject professor is to attain mastery. But before you ask, no I will not tell you what my Animagus form is. You will find out for yourselves come third year. And also, the study of becoming animagi is not taught until seventh year, and even then, we touch on only theory. If you truly wish to become an Animagus, you will have to either apply for post graduate study, or train under a mentor who has already attained mastery."

Post graduate study? Now that was a particular path Ron had never thought about. He was vaguely aware of its existence because Bill had to study for Charms mastery in line with his curse breaker position, but he never delved into the specifics because the old Ron would have avoided studying (let alone a school book) if he could.

Ron decided to file that information away for future reference, going back to the topic on hand. "So, what you're saying is that students need the help of a Transfiguration master to become an Animagus? Is that set in stone?"

McGonagall frowned slightly. "Not in the strictest sense. There are some Animagi who managed to complete the transformation from working on their own." Her gaze then sharpened. "But do not even think of doing just that, Mr. Weasley. I don't care how bright of a student you are—"

"Oh no, no, Professor. I swear, I've learned my lesson after what happened with the troll. What I'm trying to get at is, the book here said that as of now, there are only ten officially registered Animagi?"

"Twelve." McGonagall corrected. "Has been for the last five years."

Ron heard her mumble something like "need to convince Albus to get a new edition," before continuing. "But what if there are Animagi who are unregistered? Is that possible?"

The wise witch's gaze became even sharper, though Ron could see a hint of approval behind her steely eyes. "Technically speaking, yes. The process of becoming an Animagus is not strictly monitored for reasons I will never understand, considering how dangerous it is," she said in a tone that told Ron how strongly she felt about the matter.

"But isn't that bad?" Ron frowned. "I mean, with all the pets and animals around here, how are we supposed to know that one of them isn't an Animagus?"

"I highly doubt that any self-respecting Animagus would want to spend the rest of their lives as someone's pet toad," said McGonagall, clearly amused.

Try a pet rat. "But say it is possible, is there any way you can tell if an animal is an Animagus in disguise?"

McGonagall paused thoughtfully before nodding. "Indeed, there is. I would know, because I myself created that spell."

"Really?" Now that caught Ron by surprise. He had read about this beforehand, so he already knew that the spell existed. But the text did not say anything about his Head of House being its creator. "But isn't that spell some sort of charm? I mean, it makes sense for it to be a charm unless the spell turns the Animagus into another—"

"Just because my mastery is Transfiguration does not mean it is the only area of magic I am proficient in." McGonagall said matter-of-factly. "I daresay I am quite capable at Arithmancy and Charms."

Right… Ron blushed darkly."Sorry, Professor. Meant no offense."

"None taken." The return of the amused smile on McGonagall's face made Ron think that she was having too much fun out of all this. "Now, since I can tell you will not let this matter lie, I suppose I can demonstrate the spell for you." She gestured to the cage on top of Ron's books. "Is that your rat, Mr. Weasley?"

Finally! "Had to bring him for our Charms class today," Ron said animatedly as he placed Scabber's cage on McGonagall's desk. The smelly old shoe brush was currently out cold after Ron overfed its lazy arse. And thanks to the Muffiliato painstakingly cast on the cage (a real struggle, given how Charlie's old wand was with him lately), Scabbers wouldn't be able to hear much of anything. "We were doing the color-changing charms. That's why his fur's still all yellow."

(Although Ron could have lifted the charm like the rest of his classmates did to their pets after class, but why would he do that?)

"It will do. Now, before we begin, I must emphasize that this spell will simply give us a visual cue that the creature is an Animagus. It will not undo their transformation, which will require a more complex charm." McGonagall raised her wand. "The spell I am about to show you is a variation of the Revelio spell which, when cast successfully, will make an animagus glow white while in their transformed state. It won't have any effect on anyone else. Watch closely."

Ron could hear his heart thud in his chest when McGonagall spun her wand in one, two circles before finishing with a downward point and saying—

"Professor McGonagall?"

Bloody hell! Ron swore he had to hold onto McGonagall's desk to stop himself from jumping a foot in the air. "Percy? What the hell are you doing here?"

The bespectacled Weasley frowned in bemusement. "I was going to ask about something about Career Advice. But never mind me. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, err, just asking Professor McGonagall about…things." Ron mumbled while cursing a mile in his head. He hadn't planned on anyone but himself and McGonagall being here for Pettigrew's reveal, and certainly not Percy. He knew how much the other boy cared for Scabbers in the past, had been more attached to the rat than Ron had ever been. While the time traveler never knew how his older brother found out the truth about their old pet (if Percy had ever found out at all), the youngest Weasley son felt that any way was better than this.

If Ron himself, who only had Scabbers for two years, had felt so betrayed and furious after that reveal…

"Err, Professor?" Ron began uncertainly. Perhaps he could postpone this until Percy was done so that his older brother won't have to see this?

But it appeared that McGonagall hadn't noticed his reluctant tone. "Ah, yes, Mr. Weasley. Just a moment. I will get back to you after I finish my demonstration for your brother."

"But Professor, maybe Percy's question is more important? I can wait if—"

"Do not fret, Mr. Weasley. This won't take long." McGonagall said with a wave. "That is, if it is agreeable with your brother?"

"No trouble at all, Professor. But," Percy became even more confused. "What is all this about even? And why is Scabbers here?"

"Mr. Ronald Weasley here has been reading too far ahead, and wanted to know if there is a way to detect an Animagus. I was in the process of demonstrating the spell." McGonagall readied her wand again. "Rest assured, this will not harm…Scabbers in the slightest."

Shite. Ron clenched his fists with a grimace as he watched her go through the wand movement again.

"Animagi Revelio!"

There was a rush of wind, like a whistle in Ron's ears, a beat of silence, and then…

Percy blinked. "Professor, should Scabbers be glowing?"

Ron winced. I'm so sorry, Perce.

McGonagall's face turned as white as the light around Scabber's body. "Wh—what in the world?!"

"Professor!" Both Weasleys shouted in concern when the old lady nearly stumbled from nearly backing away into her chair.

"Merlin, how is this—?" She pointed at Scabbers. "That rat—it's an Animagus!"

Percy, who had been halfway past the desk, barely managed to brace himself against it in shock. "What?!"

Ron hated having to act dumb, but he had a role to play. "P—Professor, when I said that pets could be Animagi in disguise, I…I didn't think—! I never would have thought—"

Perhaps seeing two students in shock and at a loss was what made the Head of House gather her wits, raising her wand again. "Expecto Patronum."

Almost immediately, a spectral cat shot out of McGonagall's wand before settling at her feet. McGonagall gave it quick instructions to "Find at least two of the nearest and available faculty. Tell them there is an emergency situation at the Transfiguration classroom and to come here at once, then go deliver the same message to the Headmaster."

Ron watched as the cat tilted its head then gently bumping it against McGonagall's leg before taking off in a cloud of white dust. It reminded him of his own Patronus and made him wonder if he could still get his terrier to show up again…

"Stupefy!" McGonagall aimed a stunning spell at Scabbers before addressing the two Weasley boys again, her eyes and wand trained on the cage on her desk. "You two, step back. I'll secure this rat as best I can until the other Professors arrive. In the meantime, I will have to ask you a few questions about it."

Ron was about to open his mouth when he felt himself being pulled firmly to the side. He squawked in protest when he realized it was Percy's arm wrapped tightly around his front. "Perce, wha—?"

"S—Scabbers was my pet first, had been for around," The older boy's brows furrowed. "About ten years. Found him in the garden and since we couldn't afford extra money for a pet, I asked if I could keep him. Everyone else was poking fun at him, that all Scabbers did was eat and sleep, practically useless. But he was such a quiet pet, and he never got into trouble, and…"

"Ten years." McGonagall was frowning, but her tone was gentle. "Mr. Weasley, most rats—magical or not—don't live past three years, and none that I know of went beyond five."

Percy's face crumpled. "He was the first thing I had that was mine. I…I didn't think that…! If I had known…!"

The devastated, horrified look on Percy's face, those words that Ron could feel and relate to so well, were too much for Ron to bear quietly. "It wasn't Percy's fault he didn't notice that! He really cared about Scabbers! You probably wouldn't have thought anything bad about your pet unless it bit you hard on the nose!" He remembered how proud Percy had been when he handed Ron Scabbers last July, how he told Ron what a well-behaved pet Scabbers was and would not be difficult to look after, and that maybe someday, if Ron too did well in school, he'll get to have his own owl…

"Ron!" Percy hissed while tugging at Ron's shoulder but the younger boy refused to back down.

"If it's anyone's fault, it's that—that thing's!" He let a bit of his hate for Pettigrew bleed into his words. "What's the bloody deal with this thing, masquerading like a garden rat for years?! What is he even?! A loon? A criminal on the run? A bloody pervert?!"

The other two in the room with him visibly turned green at those words. Percy's grip around him became even tighter.

"I am not blaming your brother, Mr. Weasley." McGonagall, to her credit, remained gentle but firm. "And you are correct, the only one to blame here is, whoever this Animagus is. But other than his age, is there anything else you can tell me about him? Like habits? Disappearing at odd times?"

"Well, like what I just mentioned, for the most part, Scabbers just eats and sleeps. But since I haven't kept him in a cage like Ron does, I can't say for certain if he hadn't run off at times," said Percy with a tone full of regret. "In hindsight, I should have done the same."

"Stop it, Perce. The lazy oaf didn't give you a reason to put him in a cage, being such a good rat and all." Ron countered with a shrug. "Eh, what else is there to say about him? He's easy to knock out when you overfeed him, he sheds so much I won't be surprised if he coughs out hairballs, and…" Ron made an elaborate gesture of tapping his chin. "I always found it odd, how one of his paws is missing a finger. At first, I thought something may have bitten it off, but with a finger that small, how can whatever that bit it not get the rest of the hand, err, paw?"

"A missing—" McGonagall took a closer look at the stunned rodent, before frowning even more. "That is…odd. A missing finger, it sounds almost like…"

The sound of hurried footfalls echoed at the back, followed by a sharp call. "Minerva."

Everyone in the classroom turned to see two other figures walking briskly into the room, one dressed in full black, while the other in shimmering aquamarine.

"Amalie, Severus." McGonagall nodded sharply at the approaching Durand and Snape.

"Emmy, if you would, Minerva." Durand corrected. "What seems to be the problem?"

McGonagall gestured the glowing rat on the mahogany wood. "An accidental discovery, thanks to Mr. Ronald Weasley's academic curiosity. His rat is actually an Animagus in disguise. I will need your assistance to undo the transformation and to contain him until the Headmaster arrives."

Snape sent an unreadable stare at Ron and Percy before drawing out his wand. "Is it stunned?"

"Yes, but I doubt it will hold once we manage to turn it back into its proper form. Someone should be ready to restrain it, as it will most likely try to escape."

Snape and Durand traded looks. Durand cleared her throat. "Very well, Minerva. I will be the one to help with the detransformation."

"Wise choice." Snape backed off slightly while Durand stepped forward, wand aloft, while McGonagall vanished Scabber's cage away.

"Children, please step back," said Durand over her shoulder. "This could be a bit shocking to see."

"Thank you, Professor." Percy barely managed to get out. Ron nodded grimly.

McGonagall raised her wand. "On three, Emmy."

"Right. One,"

Snape kept his wand aimed at the glowing Scabbers…

"Two…"

Ron tried not to complain when Percy's grip on him was starting to hurt…

"Three!"

A flash of light, radiant white and almost neon blue, then a rushing sound, and before everyone's eyes Scabbers began to change. It was as grotesque as Ron remembered, from the way Scabber's body appeared to bloat up, followed by sprouting of human legs, the shrinking of his tail, his arms enlarging, before his ratty, balding head shot out of his formed shoulders like an inflated balloon.

Pure loathing surged through Ron's being at the sight of the pathetic little man. Pettigrew!

Apparently, the rest of the adults recognized him as well, for at that moment, McGonagall had let out a sharp cry, Snape's eyes widened in visible shock while Durand gasped. "Isn't that—?"

In their split-second shock, they failed to notice that the stunning spell was lifted, but Ron saw the awareness flitting back into Pettigrew's vision. Knowing that it only took a second to begin the transformation back into a rat, and because there was no way in hell Ron was going to let the bastard get away, the red head, pushed himself off Percy, his own wand drawn.

Please, please, please, don't screw up on me now!

"Ron, what are you—?!"

"STUPEFY!" He roared over Percy's protest, a second after Snape cast his own stunner, sending Pettigrew flying by the sheer force of their combined magic, breaking the table in the process. Pettigrew let out a squeak, but Snape didn't let up for a second, conjuring thick ropes to bind the traitor up and casting an additional petrification spell for good measure.

"Good reflexes, Mr. Weasley." Durand said breathlessly with a nod of approval. "Perhaps we could make a duelist out of you in the future."

"Err, thanks. Saw Professor McGonagall do it earlier. Cast it without thinking." Ron half-lied. "So…Scabbers, I mean that man, do you know him, Professor?"

Durand frowned. "If my eyes don't deceive me, that is Peter Pettigrew, isn't it?"

"It is." McGonagall said tightly. "Recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, famed for cornering the mass murderer and Death Eater Sirius Black before being killed along with twelve others."

"And yet here he is, down to his hand with a missing finger." Snape said venomously, and Ron could imagine the gears turning in his Potions professor's head.

"S—So he's a hero, then? Because he tried to fight a Death Eater?" Percy's voice shook, obviously on the verge of being overwhelmed. "But then what was he doing, hiding in our garden? Why did he let us keep him as our pet?"

"A hero, you say? This pathetic, pitiful waif of a man?" Snape stepped aside, showing Pettigrew in his full sniveling glory, with a sneer. "Spare yourself such idiotic thoughts, Weasley."

"With all due respect, Professor Snape," hissed Ron who stepped in front of Percy. "That thing had been my brother's pet for ten years. I'm sure you'd feel as out of sorts as him were you in his shoes, yeah?"

Ron could feel Snape's eyes boring into his but the boy kept his gaze on Pettigrew, not giving the man the opportunity to read his mind.

Before anyone else could say anything, there was another knock on the door.

"Minerva?"

"Albus!" McGonagall relaxed a fraction when everyone turned to greet the approaching Headmaster. "Thank Merlin! This situation is a lot more complicated than I expected."

"Yes…" Dumbledore's eyes appeared grave behind his spectacles when he saw the crumpled fat man on the floor. "This is quite a predicament, indeed. We need to secure this classroom first. In the meantime, Severus…"

"Yes, Headmaster." Snape bowed out with a billow of his black robes. Ron guessed it must be to retrieve some Veritaserum, though he was honestly surprised the man didn't keep a regular supply of it on his person.

"Now then," Dumbledore pulled his wand out of his robes, and with a wave, levitated Pettigrew's body into the air. Ron felt his Deluminator from Death warm in his pocket and put his hand on top of it, a pinch of worry in his gut at the thought of the Hallows being somehow able to alert its owners of the others' presence (if that was even possible).

"The rest of you, please make yourselves comfortable. We will have much to discuss before Severus returns."

The time before Snape's came back had been a blur for Ron.

Even if he had to talk a lot and answer several questions, being the technical trigger for this series of events, the whole time spent in dimly lit classroom, settled behind one of the desks near the front was rather uneventful. Not that Ron was complaining though—it was nice to have a lull time like this, before the second wave that was bound to come soon. It also gave him time to worry over his older brother.

Since the reveal, Percy had been sullen, even despondent, his face showing off such a myriad of warring emotions that Ron had been concerned that the older Weasley would suddenly snap. But while Ron kept his distance from his brooding brother, a part of him felt like he should be doing more. But what comfort could he offer? Would Percy even want it?

Surprisingly, it was Durand who noticed him distancing himself from Percy and gave him some advice.

"Give him some time, Mr. Weasley. Minerva mentioned that Pettigrew had been his rat for ten years?"

Ron nodded weakly.

"He must be feeling very conflicted and hurt over a lot of things, on top of reeling from the shock. Just be there for him, but do not be pushy. Show him that you can be trusted with whatever he is going through. Also, do not neglect to take care of yourself."

"I'm not the one who had Scabbers for ages."

"But you still had him for a time. Or can you honestly tell me that you haven't felt any attachment to him, no matter how little?"

The boy's silence was answer enough for Durand. "Acknowledge that you have those feelings, Mr. Weasley. Only then can you be able to help your brother to do the same."

"…Thanks, Professor."

Ron was shaken out of his memories when Snape appeared at the classroom doorway, holding a small vial of clear liquid.

"Ah, Severus, good," said Dumbledore, rising from his own chair. "Everyone else has just finished filling me in on what has happened. I believe now is our once little friend, Mr. Pettigrew's turn?"

Ron stood up as well, standing next to Percy, when Dumbledore pointed his wand at Pettigrew's chest and mumbled. "Rennervate."

Pettigrew let out a wet cough before opening his beady eyes to Dumbledore's twinkle-eyed stare. Ron could smell the fear radiating from the rat-like man in waves. "P—Professor Dumbledore?!"

"Ah yes, Peter, it's been too long." Dumbledore began lightly. "Merlin's beard, the years have not been kind to you, if I may be honest."

"Professor, p—please let me explain. There is—there is a very good reason for—for all of this!"

"As I am sure you do, Peter. But before we begin, I must ask," Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. "How did you manage to become an Animagus?"

"H—Huh?"

"You first came to Hogwarts in 1971, then disappeared shortly after James and Lily Potter's deaths in 1981. On average, it would take a Transfiguration mastery student five years to complete their Animagus transformation, and even then, that would be under the guidance of a master." Dumbledore went on. "In truth, unless you have been holding out on your Professors, you were at best an average student, barely passing Transfiguration, according to Minerva. So am I correct in thinking that it is unlikely that you did this on your own? Maybe even had help from some of your friends?"

Pettigrew flinched and gnawed his lower lip. Snape's own mouth curled in distaste. Everyone else waited with baited breath.

"I…I may have had a bit of help."

"From who, exactly?"

Pettigrew hesitated again, which looked utterly ridiculous to Ron. The rat had literally spit on the bonds he used to have with his friends a long time ago, when he betrayed Harry's parents to Voldemort. What's stopping him from spilling the secrets of the Marauders?

"James and Sirius, back in school." Pettigrew finally answered after what felt like ages of waiting. "James was brilliant…amazing in Transfiguration. And Sirius…he was no slouch in it either. They…they were the ones…they're the ones who became Animagi first. Then they showed me…they helped me…"

Harry once suspected that somewhere deep down, Pettigrew felt guilty for everything he's done. That he still thought of Sirius and Remus as his friends somehow. But…

"Whatever I felt for her was not enough to stop me from hurting her or the ones she cared for. From hating the one she died for."

Ron's eyes hardened. It wasn't enough to stop him from kidnapping Harry during the Triwizard Tournament, or trying to get us killed back at Malfoy Manor if Harry hadn't reminded him of the life debt. At least Snape had the decency to realize that he had been the same in the end.

"So Mr. James Potter and Mr. Sirius Black were unregistered Animagi as well. Interesting." Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully. "They must have thought very highly of you, to have included you in their endeavor. You three, along with Mr. Remus Lupin, have been such good friends during your stay here. I have always wanted to know, just what could have possibly pushed one good friend to betray another?"

"It was Sirius!" Pettigrew jumped against the ropes still holding him in place. "Sirius, he, I don't know how it could have happened, Sir. Maybe he had been jealous of James all along. Maybe the pressure of being attached to the Black family name got to him. But he did it! He became James and Lily's Secret Keeper just to hand them to the Dark Lord!"

Percy stiffened from beside Ron while McGonagall pursed her lips. Dumbledore simply nodded.

"Ah, Sirius, Voldemort's" Cue more flinches from everyone except Ron and Snape. "Infamous right hand man, the one with whom you had a confrontation with on that street, leading to your death, as well as twelve other muggles. Killed by a blasting curse so horrific, it obliterated everything but your finger."

Pettigrew instinctively hid his damaged hand from view when Dumbeldore stared at it meaningfully. "But as we can all see, that was not the entire truth, was it?"

"…He was mad! Barking mad!" The rat man began to tremble, whether from genuine fear or mere theatrics, Ron couldn't bring himself to care. "Sirius, he, he was going to kill me! He knew I was onto him! He chased me, I—I had to run! I had to hide! I wasn't…I wasn't going to let him come after me next!"

"I understand. It must have been terrifying. Sirius had always been a fierce duelist, stronger than you have ever been. Confronting him directly could have gotten you killed."

"Y—Yes! Yes, exactly!" Pettigrew tittered excitedly. "Sirius didn't even hesitate, even if it meant killing me in front of those muggles, he still did it! He thought he'd get rid of me, then get away! But he didn't! He got caught! Just like what he deserved, for betraying James and Lily!"

"So, you think it is just right, for the Potters' betrayer to be condemned to Azkaban for the rest of their days? Even if it was your old friend?"

"H—He is a traitor! He betrayed James, left…left their son an orphan! He deserves the—the worst in the world!"

"Then why hide among us?"

All heads swiveled to Ron's direction, who found that he couldn't take any more of this lying coward's drivel. The boy's hands were shaking and clenched with rage, his blue eyes burning so furiously they may as well be shooting fire.

"If you're such a big hero, if you're really the good friend you say you are, then why did you hide?" Ron spat angrily, shaking off Percy's frantic attempts to keep him quiet. "Sirius was already captured! He was already locked up in Azkaban!"

"You—you don't understand, Ron!" Pettigrew spluttered. "Sirius, he, he has many connections. Among the Death Eaters, he…he could have sent someone to finish his dirty work! There were still others out there, who would have—"

"THEN WHY MY FAMILY?! WHY DIDN'T YOU GO TO DUMBLEDORE?! OR ANYONE ELSE WHO COULD BLOODY FIGHT BACK?!" Ron exploded.

"R—Ron," pleaded Percy. "Ron, please, stop—"

"WE WERE A PLAIN WIZARDING FAMILY, AND A LOT OF US BACK THEN WERE STILL KIDS! IF THOSE DEATH EATERS FOUND OUT YOU WERE WITH US AND CAME FOR YOU, WOULD YOU HAVE GIVEN YOURSELF UP? OR WOULD YOU HAVE LEFT US TO DIE? WOULD YOU HAVE MADE MY BROTHER DIE FOR YOU, THE SAME WAY YOU MADE THOSE MUGGLES?! YOU SICK BASTARD!"

"Ronald—"

"YOU LIED TO US, YOU PIECE OF SHITE! YOU USED US! AND NOW YOU HAVE THE BALLS TO SIT THERE AND ACT LIKE YOU'RE THE VICTIM, WHEN YOU'RE JUST A SPINELESS SCUM!" Ron sneered over Pettigrew's sniveling. "Someone like you, I wouldn't be surprised if you're the real traitor! That you're the one who blew up that street and killed those muggles! That you're the one who handed Harry's parents off to Voldemort!"

There was a collected gasp around him, but Ron did not care, because this trash of a wizard was begging for his face to be caved in, and boy was Ron going to let him—

"OOF!" But before Ron could say anything else, he felt himself being manhandled the second time that day, and being pulled straight into his brother's arms. "OI! PERCE, GEROFF! I'M NOT DONE WITH—!"

"I'm sorry." The utter brokenness and grief in Percy's voice quickly killed what was left of Ron's rage. " I'm so sorry, Ronnie."

…Huh?

"I'm afraid Ronald has a point, Peter." From the top of Percy's arm, Ron could see Dumbledore gesture for Snape. "But it is not something a little bit of Veritaserum cannot solve."

"W—What? Verita—? No, no there's no need for that! I—I told you—!"

"Everything, I understand. But an old man has to be sure. Because if you were indeed as innocent as you claim, then you should have come to us, or even to your last remaining friend, Remus. You know we would have protected you. I certainly would have."

"B—But Sirius, he, he has spies! Remus—he wouldn't—"

"He believed you to be innocent, Peter, until this very moment. Let us prove him correct, shall we?"

"N—No!" Pettigrew struggled against his bonds, his eyes becoming pinpricks of terror. "No! Please, don't!"

"I'm afraid this is no longer a mere request. Minerva, Emmy, Severus, if you may."

Whatever satisfaction Ron got from hearing Pettigrew's screams and pleas as the Professors forced him still to administer the truth potion, were drowned out by the waves of guilt emanating from Percy's tight grip on him, and the way Percy seemed to sway with every word spilling from the traitor's lips under the Veritaserum's influence.

"…Did you betray James and Lily Potter to Voldemort?"

"…Yes."

"Were you their Secret Keeper?"

"…We made the switch at the last minute. Sirius thought…it was the perfect bluff. He didn't know by then…I had already taken the Mark."

"And the muggles?"

"…It was my blasting curse. I was…the one who killed them, so I could frame Sirius."

"…And the Weasleys? Why did you choose to stay with them?"

"…Because they were a magical family. They had access to all the information I needed. To bide my time…to wait for the chance to return. It was all…very well. Ronald was…he was close to Harry Potter. Planned to use him…bait Harry…present them to the others, the Dark Lord, should he return. Get the highest of honors."

"And then kill the spare, so to speak?"

"Severus!"

"He was…the least favored son. He was…expendable."

Ron winced.

…Who would have thought that scrawny Percy could have such a strong grip?

By the time the Veritaserum's effect was lifted, Pettigrew's confession had all but sealed his fate.

McGonagall had left to firecall the Ministry, Durand had gone back to the Arithmancy study club meeting, and Snape kept Pettigrew bound (and silenced) under Dumbledore's watchful eye.

Snape was particularly vicious with how he handled the blubbering man, and Ron couldn't blame him. Pettigrew had been the reason Lily Potter—who Snape loved to the very end—had died, and was taking morbid pleasure in causing the bastard as much pain and misery as he was allowed to. Would the fact that he helped bring the true cause behind her death bring Snape a bit of closure? Ron found himself hoping, if only it would make the Potions Master less bitter and miserable.

Percy, on the other hand, just looked so defeated. Right after questioning the man who was once Scabbers, it was as if all strength had been sapped from the Prefect's body, and Ron barely managed to guide Percy to the nearest chair. The older Weasley boy looked sickeningly gray, his grip on Ron's arm as tight and shaky as his dry heaving.

Panic attack. Shite! Ron promptly fell to his knees in front of Percy and seized him by the shoulders. "Perce! Perce, come on, look at me! Look at me!"

"R—Ron, I—"

"It's OK, Perce. You hear me? It'll be OK," said Ron, in the calm but strong tone he'd always use to calm a gasping and delirious Harry after a particularly bad nightmare. "Come on, breathe slowly. Follow me. Breathe in. Breathe out. Nice and easy."

"I—I can't—! I can't—!"

"Yes, you can. You're a Gryffindor and a Weasley! You're not going to let that rat get the better of you!" Ron said firmly. "Come on, big brother. Breathe. You can do this."

It took a few deep and slow breaths before Percy's breathing returned within normal range, but his hold on Ron's arm remained tight until Dumbledore offered Percy a cup of strong-smelling tea.

"I—I'm so sorry for troubling you." Percy managed to say with a rather strained voice. Dumbledore shook his head.

"It is no trouble, Mr. Weasley. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for putting you through such an ordeal. Traitor or not, Pettigrew—rather, Scabbers—had been a dear pet to you. It is understandable for you to feel so shocked and betrayed."

"But I feel that I should have…"

"Stop it," snapped Ron. "Perce, stop. It's not your fault. You couldn't have known. What matters is that he will be thrown into Azkaban and an innocent man will be freed."

"But—Ron, he—he could have hurt you! He was a Death Eater and I just gave him to you—!"

"Between us, you had the worst of it, really. He was your pet for a longer time. Good thing he didn't try to hurt you while you had him." Ron's eyes then darkened at the thought. "That bastard didn't do anything to you, did he?"

Percy appeared taken aback by the question. "Well, no, but—"

"Good, because I should have punched him in the face at least once if he had."

"Don't!" Ron nearly stumbled from the way Percy pulled him forward. "Don't you dare, Ronnie! You've done enough! Please."

A flash of temper surged through Ron's eyes. "What are you getting mad at me for?! I'm here trying to look out for you and—"

"Because you're not supposed to—!" Percy dropped Ron's arm as if it were hot coal, only to fall back into himself, head against his free hand. "For Merlin's sake, it's not supposed to be this way!"

What's that even supposed to mean?! The way Percy looked like he wanted to retreat into himself made Ron's face crumble in worry and sympathy. "Look, Perce, I'm—"

"I finally got through to them, Albus." McGonagall chose that moment to return, her lips set in a firm line. "Amelia said she will have to inform Fudge first before she and her team will come over."

"Good, good. Severus, I trust you can bring our guest here back to my tower discreetly? Let the Minister and his associates know I will be there with them shortly?"

Snape nodded, a barely contained sneer across his long, pale face. "Of course, Headmaster."

"Minerva, if you would kindly escort Mr. Percy Weasley back to the Tower and see to anything else he will need."

That made the three Gryffindors in the room look up sharply at Dumbledore. It was McGonagall who spoke. "And what of Mr. Ronald Weasley?"

Ron felt his stomach roll when Dumbledore smiled kindly his way. "Only a few words with him before he goes."

The eighteen-turned-eleven nearly stumbled when Percy shot up so suddenly. "Headmaster, with—with all due respect, Sir, Ron, he's—he's already told you everything. What else would you need him for?"

Ron's eyes widened in surprise. Did Percy just…talk back to an authority figure? Now he's really starting to worry me.

"I merely wish to clarify a few things. I promise this will not take long."

"Then why do I have to go? I'm just as involved in this! I should be here with him! I have to be—!"

McGonagall laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Come, Mr. Weasley, we can talk more in my office."

"But—"

"I'll be fine, I swear." Ron said quickly, forcing a smile on his face. "I'll see you later, Percy."

The younger Weasley kept his eyes on Percy's pained, glassy ones until his brother and Head of House disappeared from the classroom. Only then did the boy drop his smile for a troubled frown. Perce…

"He will be all right, Mr. Weasley."

Said boy turned to Dumbledore. "You sound so sure."

"When you have lived for as long as I have, you tend to develop a good grasp on how things will turn out," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "I am truly sorry you had to witness that. First, a mountain troll and now, an involvement with a fugitive. This year is turning out to be more eventful by each passing month for you."

"It's…exciting, I suppose. Not that I'm not grateful for the concern, but you really should be more worried about Percy. You saw how he was." Ron sighed. "Loved Scabbers to pieces, he did."

"A nasty shock, certainly. A very good thing that you have your wits about you."

Ron scoffed. "You're giving me too much credit, Sir. I remember losing my head with Pettigrew earlier. I acted like a brat then."

But Dumbledore's smile remained. "A momentary lapse in your temper is little compared to the way you took charge of your brother's attack, and how well you understood the potential danger Peter Pettigrew put your family in. It is rare for someone so young to be so perceptive, even more so for one raised in the Wizarding world to speak Voldemort's name so freely."

Oh. Shite. Ron sorely wished he could kick himself right now for really losing it back then. How was he going to get out of this one without raising any suspicion? It was one thing for a muggle-raised kid, like Harry and Hermione, to not fear Voldemort's name. But for those raised by wizards, who have grown up hearing horror stories of You-Know-Who and his nasty Death Eaters? Who were told again and again of how You-Know-Who was so evil and terrible that anyone who spoke his name in vain would be whisked away into his dark fortress, never to be heard of again (or worse, in pieces)?

Who grew up knowing that their twin uncles had been kidnapped, mutilated and tortured to death by Death Eaters, knowing that there were still times their mum cried with an old pocket watch to her chest when she thought no one was looking?

"…It's just a name." Ron finally said, crossing his arms stiffly. "Just a name of a bat shit insane monster who killed loads of people. But he's already dead anyway, so what? I can call that You-Boo-Hoo or You-Cuck-Coo or You-Go-Poop whatever I like!"

There was a long silence before Dumbledore did something Ron had never seen him do before.

He laughed. Not just the usual twinkle-eyed smile, or the soft chuckles he was famous for. It was a full-blown, hand-on-my-chest-because-I'm-heaving-from-laughing-too-much laugh.

"Forgive me, Mr. Weasley." Dumbledore paused to actually wipe at his eyes. "It has just been such a long time, since I had reason to laugh like that. Oh, the things that come from the imagination of the young!"

Ron blinked, unsure what to do. "Err, Professor?"

"When faced with something so frightening, most people only think of only fleeing, or fighting," continued the old man. "It is a rare thing to find those who find laughter instead, and can share it with others. I, for one, believe we need more of those who can do so in this world."

Ron nodded empathically. It was another reason why he felt it was better for Fred to live instead of him back then. His brilliant older twin brothers could make the world a better place again after the war, with all the laughter they always bring wherever they—

"But," Dumbledore's tone turned hushed. "To no longer need to fear the name, for he is long dead. How true is that, I wonder? Has it ever been?"

"How true is what?"

"You are proving to be a brilliant child, Mr. Weasley. Would you mind if I called you Ron?" When the red head shook his head, Dumbledore smiled gratefully. "Your Professors and some of the Lecturers are all in agreement of how talented and studious you are."

Ron blushed to the tips of his ears. "It's, well, they make it sound way better than it really is. I'm here to learn, after all. I'm just giving it all I've got."

"Ah, a genius through effort, much like Ms. Granger, but much more sociable. I've also heard how you've been making friends in all four Houses, which is nearly unheard of among first years!"

"Utter bullocks, if you ask me, Sir," shrugged Ron. "Just because someone's from a different House, doesn't mean we can't get along! I mean, no offense, but they're just Houses!"

The twinkle was back in Dumbledore's eyes, reminding Ron to keep his eyes on his shoes for as much as he could. Merlin, can't the old man just let him go already before he'll end up saying something he shouldn't? Or worse, give Dumbledore the opportunity to see enough of his memories to figure out the truth?

"Is there anything else, Professor? Begging your pardon, but it's been a really long day."

"…Oh dear, I have taken too much of your time, and the Ministry might be arriving any minute now! Terribly sorry, dear boy. Yes, you may leave. I will send word regarding the proceedings as soon as I can."

Ron had been halfway out of the classroom the second after excusing himself from the Headmaster when he remembered. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Ron?"

"Sirius, the man who got sent to Azkaban instead of Pettigrew? When word of this gets out, the Ministry will let him go, right? Not right for an innocent man to stay in that place any longer, I reckon."

"Naturally, and with compensation for all those years of unjust imprisonment, I'd expect." Dumbledore answered. "Rest assured that I will see to it that it will come to pass, and that Sirius will be in good hands once he is released from Azkaban. I know a good friend of his who will be glad to take him in."

Would have been nice if you did that ten years earlier. Ron pushed the snide comment aside, lest the Headmaster caught that stray thought in his head.

"I also daresay that Sirius and his friend will be very grateful for your part in securing his freedom, so you can expect to hear from them soon." The older wizard smiled widely. "They would be very delighted to meet you, I'm sure."

You mean they'd be very delighted to meet Harry. Still, Ron smiled back at the nice thought. Maybe with Sirius being freed earlier, before the second war will begin, they'll be able to take Harry and have a few years of peace and happiness. It wasn't much, but it can definitely be better than what they went through in the old future. Especially for Sirius.

But onto other important matters, Ron thought over as soon as he was out of the Transfiguration classroom. Dumbledore. With how much trouble I'm bound to get into while here at Hogwarts, I can't avoid running into to him, and I can't keep staring at my shoes every time that happens. Not to mention Snape! There has to be a way for me to learn Occlumency! But how? There's not a single book about it in the Library—at least, not in the not Restricted section—and there's no way I can get permission to search in said Restricted section without turning some heads!

Also, what the hell was with my reflexes earlier? If I had been alone with Pettigrew, the bloody rat would have gotten away with how slow I was! Shite eating blast-ended skrewts, I really do need to work on my dueling skills as soon as possible! Not to mention my spell repertoire, Charlie's old wand throwing tantrums, and bloody Occlumency! Halfway through the year and still so many fucking problems! If there was only a place here in Hogwarts where I can hide, that's big enough to train in, and can have everything I need! Something as good as the Room of Requirement!

…Wait a minute…

Five seconds later, Ron really, really wished he could kick himself in the arse to Mars. But for now, the best he can do is hit his head with his stack of books.

Of fucking bloody course, you fart-for-brains! Still, Ron couldn't help the wide grin threatening to split his face in half. The Room of Requirement!

I admit, I was nervous about posting this chapter.

Some of you have been asking about how I plan to handle the problem with Ron's wand and brought up good points regarding this. But since the plot of Book 1 is mostly set at this point, all I can do now is post my take on it and face the music. Does this make sense? I hope so. It does to me. :D

So yay, Pettigrew is caught! Sirius will be released two years earlier! Harry's got a shot at having a happier home life! Good job, Ronnie!

But wait, the year is only halfway done! What other shennanigans can Ron get into next?

Also, did we just make it to the end of a chapter without a flashback? By golly, we did, didn't we? (^u^)

Again, thank you to everyone who reviewed/followed/added TBA to their favorites! You guys are a huge part of the reason this fanfic is still ongoing! Much love and power to you guys! Hope this was worth the long read.

UP NEXT:
An upcoming trial, Ron being back in the spotlight, and some family bonding of the Weasley kind

Chapter Text

OK, first off, I apologize for the huuuuge delay in posting this. Postgrads making me work my arse off all quarter, then I suck at writing trials and I had to research legal proceedings in the UK to get some idea on how to work this out. Honestly, I wasn't going to go into detail about the trial, but since a lot of you are expecting it…

Eh, I hope it's worth the wait.

Now to get back to replying to the reviews…

Major, major thanks to my beta, A.C. nelli, for their help! Super work as always! :D

Chapter Eleven:

The Trial of the Decade

Dear Father and Mother,

I wanted to write to you as soon as I could, hopefully before you hear the news from somebody else: Scabbers is in fact an unregistered Animagus. Worse, he is a Death Eater, the one directly responsible for the deaths of Harry Potter's parents.

And it was Ron who helped everyone figure it out.

A shaky breath escaped Percy's lips as he rested his forehead on his free hand. He knew he had to get this letter sent as soon as possible, but the whirlwind of events from earlier left him so drained he could barely process a line in his head.

Never could he have imagined that his beloved pet rat was an Animagus all long, although, in hindsight, he really should have suspected it. Scabbers, who already appeared fairly old when Percy first found him, had been his pet for ten years. That time alone was far longer than the expected lifespan of a normal rat. But he hadn't thought anything of it, and if it weren't for Ron's accidental discovery…

If there was one thing Percy detested above everything, it was failure.

He had always prided himself in being prepared, in making the right decisions, in doing what he had to do as flawlessly as possible. How else could he have maintained his high-class standing and proven his worth to be a Prefect? And not like Bill, who seemed to be somehow effortlessly good at everything, Percy's achievements were a result of his hard work and his drive to succeed in everything he wanted for himself.

So far, he thought he had everything right, until that fateful Halloween night.

Professor McGonagall might as well have stabbed a sword through his heart when she told them about what happened to Ron. It felt like the world came tumbling down on his shoulders when he saw his dear little brother bruised and bandaged in the Hospital Wing that night.

Then Ron's words right after he woke up had been like a slap to the face.

"You have other stuff you should be worrying about."  His eleven-year-old brother had said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  "You know, bigger and better things."

Did Ron really think that? That he was the last thing Percy was supposed to care about? He had been so shocked into hurtful silence (and the eventual arrival of their Professors) that he hadn't reacted. In hindsight, he may have inadvertently proven his brother right.

"He was…the least favoured son. He was…expendable."

"NO!" Percy flung the quill to the other side of the room, digging his nails into his scalp with a furious, pathetic cry.

Not true! That was definitely not true! What did that traitorous bastard know?!

Years before coming to Hogwarts, Percy—who could already tell at a young age that Ron was given the least attention by their busy parents— had done his best to be there for his youngest brother: helping him learn to read and write, telling him bedtime stories, and playing chess with him. When Ron drifted away for a while, Percy had been troubled at the thought that his baby brother may have forgotten the bond they had created through stupid jokes, secret stashes of sweets, and re-enacting the Tales of Beedle the Bard.

But then Ron had come back to him. How, why, he couldn't even begin to guess, but the summer before this term had been the happiest in Percy's recent memory. Ron had acknowledged him, asked for his help, willingly spent time with him, and even defended him against the twins' relentless teasing. While Percy had truly appreciated Ron's efforts, it was only recently that he realized something very important.

They may all drive him crazy at one point or another, and he may have always felt like he didn't belong with them, but Percy loved his whole family very much. In fact, a primary reason why he wanted to make it big in life was so that he and his family will never know poverty again. Never have to buy everything second hand, wear only hand-me-downs or experience days when food or supplies were tight.

Yet he ended up failing them. He had utterly failed as a big brother.

And as if the incident with the troll hadn't been proof enough, this recent revelation about Scabbers was another painful blow.

He failed again, Percy knew as clear as day, and nothing his little brother said could convince him otherwise.

"Between us, you had the worst of it, really."  Ron's expression suddenly turned cloudy.  "That bastard didn't do anything to you, did he?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Good, because I should have punched him in the face at least once if he had."

No, no, no that had been all wrong! Percy fretted. HE was the big brother, for Merlin's sake! He was supposed to be the one doing the protecting, be it from the twins, trolls or bloody Death Eaters masquerading as pet rats! He was the one who promised Bill and Charlie that he would keep an eye on Ron and to make sure he stays safe.

But it was Ron who got hurt by a troll. It was Ron who defended him from Snape's scathing remarks upon seeing Pettigrew. It was Ron who let a storm of righteous fury lose on the traitor on his behalf.

For fuck's sake, it was Ron who saw him having a panic attack, and was the one who talked him through calming back down!

Since when had it been the other way around?

The memory of Ron's bandaged face, fresh from the troll attack, flashed before his eyes.

Percy slammed a clenched fist hard against his desk.

It  can't  stay the other way around.

EVENING PROPHET SPECIAL EDITION

Peter Pettigrew, Alive and a Death Eater!

By Andy Smudgley

19 December 1991: Once thought dead for the last ten years, Peter Pettigrew, recipient of Order of Merlin, First Class, was discovered in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry disguised as a student's pet. Further questioning by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE) revealed that not only was Pettigrew an unregistered Animagus, but is also, in fact, a Death Eater who was the real perpetrator behind the massacre of the twelve Muggles at downtown London on 2 November 1981.

Pettigrew also confessed having been the key accomplice of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named in the attack of Godric's Hollow and the deaths of Lord James Fleamont Potter of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, and his wife, Lily Evans Potter, Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, and his wife Lily Potter, née Evans. Up until now, it had been believed that their alleged Secret Keeper, Lord Potter's friend, Sirius Orion Black was behind these crimes. The Wizengamot sentenced Black to fifteen life sentences in Azkaban with no parole.

…

"It is indeed a shocking discovery, to find that a once admired hero is in fact a traitor, and that we have incarcerated an innocent man for the past ten years," said Albus Dumbledore, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

When questioned on how Pettigrew was discovered in the first place, Dumbledore answered, "A fortunate accident due to a student's diligence and intellectual curiosity. Rest assured that the student is safe, that Hogwarts is as secure as it has always been, and that our staff is constantly vigilant in ensuring the safety of everyone in our school."

…

Due to the quick action of the Minister of Magic and the DMLE, under the leadership of Lady Amelia Susan Bones of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Bones, Pettigrew is to stand trial this coming Saturday, 21 December. Black was also reportedly pulled out of Azkaban and is currently recuperating at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

…

Dumbledore adds, "I give my word as Headmaster that Hogwarts will cooperate with our esteemed Minister to ensure that the true culprit and his innocent victims will finally receive due justice."

…

The news spread like brushfire on a summer morning.

Reactions all around Hogwarts over having a Death Eater so close to the school so soon after the troll incident ranged from awe to anxiety, and talks shifted from the upcoming holidays to the trial that had taken the whole Wizarding World by storm. The student body was especially keen on finding out just who was that "diligent student" responsible for catching Pettigrew, coming up with wild theories and poking their noses into anything that seemed even slightly out of the ordinary.

And since he was being mistaken for a diligent student who just happened to be missing a pet rat, Ron was quick to arouse suspicion in a matter of hours.

So much for staying under the bloody radar, Ron grumbled to himself (don't ask him what a radar is; it was just something he heard from Harry before). Bloody Seamus and Dean just have to keep asking about the rat. Even under custody and miles away, Pettigrew still keeps giving me trouble!

At least Dumbledore managed to keep his and Percy's involvement off the papers, so he really didn't have to confirm anything nor did anyone have ammunition to corner him. The only ones he did tell the full story were his best friends, the twins and Lee Jordan (who was all but literally attached to the twins' hips anyway). As expected, they were shocked and furious over what happened—the twins even wished they had a chance to punch Pettigrew's face in—it ended with everyone being excited for Harry to meet the now cleared Sirius Black, who may or may not be his godfather.

(Ron might not be able to outright confirm anything, but he can certainly push his friends into the right direction. Oh, the joys of being a time traveller.)

With the trial being only days away, it was obvious why Ron could not join his friends in researching about Flamel. In fact, Harry had insisted that Ron should stay out of it in order to focus on the upcoming event. And, truth be told, Ron had not thought he would need the time until he was actually made to prepare for it.

For the past few days before the trial, Dumbledore had been meeting with him and Percy to coach Ron on how he should carry himself in court and helping him iron out his story in order to convince the Wizengamot without much trouble. Percy, on the other hand, was there because he insisted the youngest Weasley needed the company and it was the least he could do to support Ron. But while Ron appreciated Percy's intention, he could really do without the nagging about his poor posture, unbecoming habitual gestures and ineloquent manner of speech. (It was a testament to how much Percy complained about it that the words 'unbecoming' and 'ineloquent' became part of Ron's vocabulary.)

Dumbledore also informed them who among the Wizengamot members he was sure would be in attendance, and it was the only time the Headmaster worked with Percy on making sure that Ron knew how to pay due courtesy.

From what Ron knew of their justice system, criminal trials in the Wizarding World last half a day at most. Both the plaintiff and defendant present their cases and witnesses, then the jury will examine the evidence for authenticity then cast votes on the verdict, which will be read in detail by the Chief Juror (usually the Supreme Mugwump). Presiding over the trial would be members from both the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Wizengamot. One could tell by the number of Wizengamot members attending just how important of a trial this was.

(It was why it was a big surprise when the majority of the Wizengamot was present during Harry's trial because-Boy-Who-Lived or not-a trial on improper use of magic should not call for it. It only showed how desperate and corrupt the Ministry and the Wizengamot had become during Fudge's term.)

So, knowing all this, Ron had anticipated that most of the Wizengamot will be present for Sirius' trial. More than Sirius' unjust imprisonment being one of the biggest judicial blunders of the Ministry to date, it was a trial concerning one of the oldest and most prominent families of the esteemed group.

"If you were a Halfblood or a Muggleborn, the Court may show you some leniency in not knowing our customs," Dumbledore explained. "But since you are a Pureblood, the esteemed Lords and Ladies will expect you to know the Ways, especially since, regardless of your family's current status, you are representing the Most Ancient and Noble House of Weasley."

Percy and Ron traded frowns at that. Not that they were unaware of that fact, but it was a long time since anyone had ever acknowledged their status as an Ancient and Noble House, a once member of the Wizengamot House of Lords, whose lineage was actually comparable to the Blacks. However, because of recent history, they'd rather pretend that they never were one at all. It was the other reason why the Weasleys spoke so strongly against their inclusion in the Sacred Twenty Eight.

Still, while Ron never cared much for politics, even the thought of what exactly happened to the Weasley seat at the Wizengamot left the taste of rotten eggs in his mouth...

"I'd rather they didn't." Ron finally said. "Sounds like something Ma—I mean, someone nasty would love to throw around a lot, and I don't want to be like them."

"The fact, however, remains that you are still of an Ancient and Noble House, no matter what others may think." The wizened wizard's eyes twinkled. "And contrary to what you may expect, Ron, there are members of the Wizengamot who have not forgotten that, and will expect you to do the same."

They can't be serious! Ron exhaled in frustration. Years of not acknowledging us as one of them, and now that this happened, they're expecting me to act as if I've been part of their bloody peacock fest my entire life! How stuck up can these arse lords be?

...But it's not like I have any other choice.

On the bright side, Dumbledore had promised Ron that the jury would most likely not force extreme measures to ensure the veracity of his statements (i.e. Veritaserum). The redhead didn't feel too confident about that, as the Headmaster would not be the chief Wizengamot representative for this trial for supposed impartiality. But since most of the trial was beyond his control, Ron had to begrudgingly leave this matter to Dumbledore and hope for the best, as he had no way to defend his deepest secrets if subjected to the truth potion. Not to mention that problem with Dumbledore's Legilimency.

Which means Ron thought with a pensive frown over his dinner of boiled potatoes, buttered carrots and roast lamb, once this trial is over, it's high time I learn Occlumency properly.

But how?

"Ron! Percy!"

Harry, Hermione and Neville were immediately onto the red-haired wizard as soon as he and Percy stepped into the Gryffindor Common Room, worry evident on their faces. Ron couldn't blame them; this has been the second time he and his brother had been called up to the Headmaster's office, but it was only now that he had gotten permission to tell his friends what was going on. And since almost everyone was here, today was as good a time as any.

Percy pushed up his glasses over his rueful brown eyes. "I know you have a lot of questions, but just give us a moment to find the twins."

Neville's brows furrowed. "You're not in trouble, are you?"

"Not really. Don't worry, we'll explain everything." Ron smiled when he saw the twins and Lee Jordan playing exploding snap at a desk near the fireplace before bounding over to them. "Fred, George, mind joining us for a bit?"

"Oh, hey there, little brother," started George while his and Fred's eyes remained on the table of cards. Lee was also focused on the game but did give Ron a friendly wave.

Fred smirked before setting another card. "Can you give us a minute—"

"—just need to wipe the floor with Lee for the fifth—"

"Another time, you two," Percy said so sharply it made the twins and Lee look up. "This is very important."

It must have been the grave look in the older Weasley's eyes that made Fred and George simply look at each other and nod instead of complaining about Percy ruining their fun.

Lee stood up as well. "Right, be seeing you later then—"

"No, I think you ought to know too. Fred and George have all but made you an official Weasley by now."

"Ron, Professor Dumbledore said—"

"—that we can also confide in people we trust." Ron shot Percy a meaningful look. "I trust the twins, and they trust Lee. That's good enough, don't you think?"

Percy stared at him a little more before exhaling and smiling slightly. "Merlin, Ron, since when are you this grown-up?"

Ron waved a hand. "It's been known to happen."

"…Thanks, Ron," Lee said with an oddly mystified look that made Ron cough uncomfortably before leading the twins and Lee back to the couch near the fireplace where his own friends were. It was a good thing that they were the only ones around in the Common Room since it was almost curfew, so they didn't have to go elsewhere or worry about someone else overhearing.

Still, Ron was glad—and impressed—that Percy cast a quick Muffliato charm just in case.

"So I reckon you guys heard about a Death Eater being found here at Hogwarts, right?" Ron began.

Hermione traded looks with Harry and Neville before nodding. "Of course. It was all over the news last night, and everyone's been talking about it."

Right. The Ministry acted faster than Ron expected, which was actually a very good thing. Not even a day after the reveal, the Wizarding World was abuzz with the story of Pettigrew's arrest. Talks about the holidays shifted into whispers about a Death Eater still running around a free man all this time and how frightening it was he was found in Hogwarts, of all places, so soon after the troll incident.

"Hang on—" Fred's eyes were suddenly hard and his posture became stiff. "Don't tell me you and Perce had something to do with that!"

"Unfortunately," Percy said lowly, "Scabbers was actually Peter Pettigrew."

"…What?!" Everyone except Ron and Percy exclaimed at the same time. Harry had even jumped to his feet from the couch, his jaw wide open. "But—how did—? Why is he—?"

"Scabbers was an Animagus—a wizard who can transform into an animal— in disguise," answered Percy. "He hid as a rat for the last ten years after framing someone for his crimes."

"You mean the massacre of those Muggles back in 1981," Lee whispered while looking at Harry, "And betraying the Potters…"

Harry sucked in a breath at that, making Hermione squeeze his arm comfortingly. "How did he get discovered? He didn't hurt any of you, did he, Ron?"

All eyes—ranging from worried to furious—went to Ron who shook his head. "Actually, it was a bit of an accident…" Then Ron, with Percy's help, told them about how the reveal went, from asking McGonagall about Animagi, to casting the spell on Pettigrew, to Dumbledore arriving and questioning the rat into confessing.

By the end of the story, even Lee's face had paled considerably. "Holy shite…"

Ron smiled wryly. "That's a good way to sum it up."

George's hand was shaking when he ran it through his fiery red locks. "Merlin, to think that fucking rat had been around us for a decade! Please tell me one of you blokes got to punch him at least once!"

"I wanted to, but someone—" Ron jerked his head at Percy's direction, "stopped me."

Fred snarled. "That coward got lucky I wasn't there." He then cracked his knuckles. "Would have broken his face in if I were, that bastard!"

"That's enough," said Percy. "That criminal is in custody now. All that's left is for him to stand trial before he gets carted away to Azkaban. Then we'll never have to deal with that vermin again."

"It's going to be on the 21st, right?" Lee asked. "Are you two going to stand as witnesses? Is that why Professor Dumbledore's been calling for you?"

The oldest Weasley in the room shook his head. "No, just Ron, because the Headmaster said that he was the one who started the chain of events leading to the reveal."

Neville frowned in confusion. "But wouldn't it be better if it were the two of you, Percy? You were there too, and you're a Prefect. You'd be able to add more credibility to the story."

"Thank you, Neville. I thought that as well. But apparently, both the Headmaster and the Ministry agreed that my testimony would not be necessary." Percy clicked his tongue in a surprising show of irritation bordering to defiance. Ron was seriously worried about what was happening with his authority figure worshipping older brother.

"But can't we come with him at least?" Fred asked. "Ron's just eleven, for Merlin's sake! Shouldn't he have at least family nearby, especially in a trial as big as this?"

"Mum and Dad ought to come too, right?" George added. "But they should be in Romania right about this week."

Ron bit his lip guiltily, knowing that his parents will have to postpone their holidays because of his involvement with the Pettigrew fiasco.

"Of course they'll come," Percy said confidently. "And it's not a closed-door trial, so I'm sure we can all go."

"You really don't have to—"

"Nonsense, Ron." The Gryffindor Prefect snapped. "We'll definitely be there. What kind of family would we be if we didn't show our support at a time like this! ? Weasleys stick together, remember?"

"I thought you would be different. That we could really be brothers! But you're just like everyone else! IF YOU'RE REALLY A GRYFFINDOR, THEN HAVE THE BALLS TO ADMIT THAT YOU WISH WE NEVER WERE!"

That particularly bad memory made Ron look to his shoes. "...R—right."

"So he was the one...who betrayed my parents…" Harry said slowly, obviously still trying to process all the information. "But you mentioned that someone was sent to Azkaban for that, the one Pettigrew framed?"

"Yeah, Sirius Black." The youngest redhead nodded with a smile. "Heard Dumbledore mention he had been best mates with your dDad! I bet he's got loads of stories about him and your Mum!"

But Harry frowned unsurely. "Would he even…? Hermione and Neville said that...that horrid place, they drive inmates mad because of the Demo—Deminters—?"

"Dementors," supplied Neville.

"Right, them. And he had been in that place for ten years. Even if he gets out now, will Mr. Black be…?"

Ron was sorely tempted right there and then to just tell Harry that yes, Sirius Black was still relatively sane and yes, Sirius Black will (if he does not already) love him to pieces. But since he is not supposed to know any of that yet…

"Dumbledore informed us that Mr. Black had been transferred to St. Mungo's as soon as Pettigrew was taken into custody." Percy said gently. "Trust me, Harry, when it comes to healing, he will be in the most capable hands possible. All we can do now is hope for the best for him."

Harry nodded slowly but didn't say anything. Ron frowned worriedly. "You OK, Harry?"

"...Sorry, it's just...a lot to take in," The bespectacled boy rubbed the back of his head. "First the troll, then the match with Slytherin, and now this."

Fred smiled wryly. "And we've barely gotten past the first quarter."

Hermione's eyes softened in understanding. "This must be very overwhelming for you, Harry."

"I know I ought to stop complaining. At least we managed to survive the troll and the Quidditch match all right."

"You went through a lot more than most firsties have," Lee piped in, giving Ron a sideways glance. "You and Ron, actually. It's OK that you think that way. If I was in your shoes in my first year, I would have beaten the stuffing out of those scatter cushions! Take it from me, it does wonders when you think you're gonna go spare!"

Fred pretended to sound horrified. "So it WAS you who was murdering all those poor pillows!"

"And to think people kept saying it was us!"

Lee rolled his eyes. "You and Fred do way worse things than I ever could, George."

"We never—!"

"—such baseless accusations!"

The dark-skinned boy merely snickered. "Take it to someone who'll actually believe your dumb arses."

"Why you—"

"Anyway," Percy said loudly over the arguing third years with what Ron could tell was a fond eye roll (and a barely suppressed smirk of his own). "Like Jordan said, no one will blame you feeling overwhelmed, especially since this matter with Pettigrew strikes so close to home for you. Would it help if we asked Professor Dumbledore if you could visit Mr. Black once he has healed enough? Only if you want to, of course."

Even Ron was taken aback by how empathic Percy was acting right now, knowing the fact that he knew his older brother was still reeling from his own feelings of shock and betrayal from Scabbers' reveal.

It was clear now more than ever how much Ron harshly underestimated his supposedly pompous brother…

The half-unsure, half-hopeful look in Harry's doe green eyes were almost painful to look at. "Can I, really? I wouldn't want to, err, there might be a chance that he…"

"You're his best mate's son, Harry! How can he not want to see you?" Ron pointed out. "Besides, I reckon that if they really were that close, your dad may have even made Sirius your godfather!"

That was when Harry's wide eyes went full Lumos mode. "Godfather?"

"What? You don't have those in the Muggle world?"

"Of course we—"

"No Godparents, you say?" Fred cut Hermione off. "Such a tragedy! Woe unto them poor sods!"

"Indeed, Gred. Yet it falls unto us to educate our good friend, Mr. Potter!"

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes with a sigh as the others joined Ron in explaining the basics of godparenthood to a mystified Harry. "Boys."

It may have turned into a passionate—exaggerated—dramatization of just how one is made into a godparent (even Percy had a good laugh over Fred and George all but threatened Lee at wandpoint into "providing and sustaining, in every and all aspects" for their imaginary children), but the way Harry's entire countenance was beaming with excitement and hope—brighter than Ron had ever seen his best friend in a long time—made everything totally worth it.

Although that made Ron suddenly wonder.

Now that I think about it, do I have godparents?

Despite knowing there was no war yet and that he was relatively safe, Ron couldn't help the cold anxiety creeping up his spine, being inside the cold stone walls of the Ministry of Magic, Courtroom One. The room itself was wide and circular, reminiscent of an arena, with ascending rows of benches forming a half-circle next to a raised stone platform with a frayed, dark wooden chair in the middle, and three polished oak podiums. At the other end of the room were more benches, but this time lined up in columns by pairs facing the platform and occupied by the witnesses and invited guests. While the trial was not necessarily a closed one, spectators were admitted on a pre-invited basis only, something Ron had heard Dumbledore insisted on.

Among those he recognized was Andromeda Tonks at the opposite column, her posture calm and collected behind her thick velvet and purple robes. There was also a fidgety Tonks sitting between Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt. While Kingsley appeared content to look around quietly, Moody was frowning heavier than usual, and was tapping his cane every now and then with an air of impatience the younger boy could sense all the way from his seat. At the front of the opposite column were the Professors who were there during the reveal: a tight-lipped McGonagall, a placid looking Durand, and Snape who appeared to be torn between scowling and smirking, looking almost as excited as Ron was for the whole affair to just be done with.

And, Merlin, what is taking the trial so long to start took them so long to finally start the trial? Ron huffed loudly; arms crossed tightly in front of him. It's already eight in the morning! We've been here for at least an hour with nothing to do and hardly any breakfast! Hufflepuff's cream puffs, how much longer are they going to make us—

FLICK!

It took half a second for Ron to realize that he had been flicked rather sharply on the forehead, making him blink and rub at the tingling spot with a scowl. "Oi, what was that for?!"

From next to him, Charlie Weasley shrugged and smirked in response. "Sorry, Ron. For a minute, I thought that piss-off-you-wankers look on your face was gonna be permanent. Thought I ought to do something about it."

"Sod off, Charlie." Ron barely suppressed the desire to flip his brother off. "This trial is taking too bloody long to start, and to think we came here early for this! What else are they waiting for? The end of the holidays?"

A light laugh came from Bill Weasley at Ron's right. "I would certainly hope not. The goblins will have my hide if I can't make it back to Egypt after Christmas."

Ron knew Bill was just trying to lighten the mood, but knowing that he had somehow become an inconvenience made him frown. "You know you don't have to stay too long if it will get you in trouble with Gringotts—"

Charlie exhaled audibly. "Ronnie, I swear, if we weren't in a courtroom, you'd get a headlock for that."

"I'm serious, Charlie—"

That earned him another forehead flick, much to Ron's chagrin. Charlie was lucky their parents were out of earshot for a talk with Dumbledore or their Mum would have twisted their ears for misbehaving. "No, you're Ron, but that's beside the point. Didn't we already talk about this?"

The day before the trial, Ron and his brothers were summoned to the Headmasters' Office for what Ron assumed to be more final reminders for the trial. But what greeted him in the office caught him off guard.

"Ron!"

"Woah, wha—?" The eighteen-turned-eleven blinked incredulously at the redhead hugging his middle. "Ginny?" He blinked again. "Mum? Dad?" His jaw dropped. "Bill? Charlie?"

It was so unexpected that it felt surreal to see his parents and his two oldest brothers around Dumbledore's desk, his little sister in his arms, their whole family brightening the office atmosphere with their hearty back slaps, warm hugs and excited chatter in greeting. Sure, he figured that his parents cancelling the holiday in Romania was called for, but he hadn't thought that Bill and Charlie would be coming over as well.

Dumbledore later explained that he and McGonagall thought of inviting the two oldest Weasley children for both the trial and the holidays, letting the siblings stay at the mostly vacated Gryffindor tower for the time being while their parents were accommodated in one of the guest rooms. Not that Ron wasn't happy about it—he was beyond happy, really—but it bothered him that Bill and Charlie had to leave work just for his trial. He remembered that they could not take the holidays off so easily, at least from what he remembered of his first life.

It took a bit of debate (and Charlie losing his temper somewhat) before Ron let the matter drop, resigning himself to at least having his whole family with him in Hogwarts for this year's Christmas. The thought that he was still being a burden to them remained at the back of his mind, but he really didn't feel like arguing with Charlie about it again.

Thankfully, before Ron could say anything, a loud voice rang in the courtroom like a low bell.

"Announcing the arrival of the esteemed Lords and Ladies of our Wizengamot."

The two double doors at the other end of the courtroom simultaneously opened, and out came several wizards and witches wearing plum robes and hats, walking up to their seats in an orderly fashion with an air of obviously practised elegance.

The Wizengamot was composed of around fifty members, divided into two houses: the lower House of Commons, and the upper House of Lords and Ladies. But while the former house has more members than the latter, it was actually the House of Lords that wielded considerable power. For while the House of Commons members got elected with the approval of the Minister of Magic, the positions of the representatives from the House of Lords and Ladies were considered inheritances, passed down the lines of Wizarding Britain's oldest and most influential families. Families that, even until now, still have a strong grip on Wizarding Britain because of their wealth and the respect they command.

The chubby, balding man at the center of the benches was the first one Ron recognized. There was Minister Fudge—the spineless tosser—next to the toad-faced Umbridge. There was also Nott, a pale faced man with slicked back salt-and-pepper hair and cold grey eyes. Next to him, a dark-skinned woman with a round nose and bushy dark hair who Ron remembered Dumbledore mentioning was from the Ancient and Noble House of Shafiq. There was also a portly man who resembled Ernie MacMillan. Two fair-haired nobles, a man and a woman—siblings, perhaps? —stood next to the stern-looking Lady Regent Augusta Longbottom. Another Lady, this time with wavy brown hair falling loosely around her shoulders, her face somewhat familiar despite the heavy makeup—

A sharp clack diverted Ron's attention from the Wizengamot assembly to the witch who came striding in after the last court member had sat down. Tall, light-skinned with steel curls resting on either shoulder, her plum robes billowing as she made her way to the middle podium. Ron recognized her at once: Lady Regent Amelia Bones, the current head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Bones, and Head of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Lord and Ladies of the Court, good morning," Madame Bones began. "Today, we convene to hear the case of one Peter Thaddeus Pettigrew, charged with being a Death Eater, servant to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, accomplice to the first-degree murders of Lord James Fleamont Potter and Lady Lily Potter nee Evans of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, and twelve counts of second-degree murder from the London Muggle Massacre of 1981."

The sound of wood slamming came from one of the side doors of the room, making everyone turn to see an oddly dazed looking Pettigrew being led into the room, dragging his feet on the polished wood. The dull-eyed, stiff limbed Pettigrew was then pushed onto the gnarled chair in the middle of the room, and almost at once, chains bound the rat in place. The haggard man, who looked like he had horribly aged ten years since Ron last saw him, did not say anything.

"In line with this compelling new evidence, the Court also reopens the case of one Sirius Orion Black of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, who was once tried and sentenced to fifteen life sentences of Azkaban for the crimes now being accused of Mr. Pettigrew—"

Another door slammed open (how many doors does this courtroom have, anyway?), followed by the sound of squeaking wheels from Ron's right. Sirius Black came in on a wheelchair with Remus Lupin right behind him; pale with sunken eyes surrounded by dark circles, bony arms under a heavy-looking hospital robe, his face hard with a deep frown which grew harsher when his grey eyes landed on Pettigrew's hunched form. Ron suspected that it was only Remus' hand going for Sirius' shoulder that stopped the latter from jumping out of his wheelchair to pummel his traitorous former friend.

"Looks like we're just in time."

"Hey, Mum. Hey, Dad." Bill looked over his shoulder with a slight smile at their parents.

"Sorry we got held up. Met with some chaps from the office then had to check in with Percy, Ginny and the twins." Arthur smiled sheepishly. "Took a bit longer than expected."

"Only because you are too kind for your own good, Arthur." Molly tutted fondly. "Not to mention how hard it was to keep Fred and George from ransacking poor Dedalus' office."

The Weasley patriarch laughed. "At least Dedalus is nice enough to take it all in stride. Keeping four sulking children entertained is a challenge in itself! Remind me that I owe him a night out after the holidays."

Charlie scoffed. "You'll owe him more than a couple of firewhiskeys after having to deal with the twin terrors."

Molly's eyes drifted to the center of the room. "Is that him? Peter Pettigrew? He looks dreadful."

"Serves him right, spineless rat," mumbled Ron too lowly for his mother to hear.

"And that man in the wheelchair, Sirius Black," Molly frowned. "The poor dear. Ten years in Azkaban for a crime he did not commit. Look at him, barely able to stay up. They should have just let him stay at St. Mungos."

Arthur nodded in agreement. "I'm sure they won't let him overtax himself. Lady Bones is sensible enough not to, and focus on finding Pettigrew guilty."

"—and here to present the case is the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore."

Ron's back immediately straightened as the Headmaster suddenly appeared in the middle of the room as if he had apparated in. From the corner of his eye, he saw his Professors straighten up, their attention sharpened.

"Good day, Lords and Ladies of the Court," the old wizard said with a bow. "I stand before you today as both the prosecutor for Mr. Pettigrew and in defence for Sirius Orion Black of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. I, therefore, ask your Graces to carefully consider the evidence presented to you and to arrive at the verdict that is fair and just, rightfully based on the truth you will most assuredly find." He nodded with a stroke of his long silver beard. "Without further ado, I shall now present our case."

Dumbledore was quick to get straight to the point, thank Merlin, presenting the accusations against Pettigrew and the evidence they have gathered against him and for the clearing of Sirius' name.

Ron didn't pay too much attention, even when the Headmaster presented an impressive display of collated memories from the witnesses (including his own) via a Pensive, as he already knew the whole story and frankly just wanted everything to be over with so he can go back to Hogwarts and have some well-deserved breakfast.

The Wizengamot, however, were all leaning forward in rapt attention, with some even nodding or taking notes, as Dumbledore then proceeded to call the witnesses to the stand.

The first to be called was Professor McGonagall, who was as succinct as the Headmaster was, her face betraying nothing but determination even as the questioning began.

"Pettigrew was a former student of yours, wasn't he?" The Wizengamot member introduced as Lord Ernest McMillan of the Most Ancient and Noble House of McMillan asked.

"That he was, and a member of the Gryffindor House."

"Was there any instance you can recall at the time that gave you the idea that he had an inclination to become a Death Eater?"

"No, my Lord." McGonagall's nostrils flared but her face remained impassive. "Pettigrew was a half-blood who never stood out or had any bad record, save perhaps for his barely passable academic performance. There was no indication of him going dark, at least not while he was at school."

Fudge raised his hand to be acknowledged by Bones before asking. "Then how is it that an average student, at best, managed to master the Animagus transformation, reputedly the most difficult and dangerous form of Transfiguration magic known to wizardkind?"

"…It is with the help of his friends, James Potter, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. Lord Potter was especially talented in Transfiguration. He could have completed a Mastery of the subject should he have chosen to pursue postgraduate studies." McGonagall smiled thinly. "Black and Lupin were no slouches in the subject either."

Several questions more were brought up before Dumbledore was asked to call another witness to the stand, this time it was Durand.

"You said that you were on your way to your class when you received the summons from Lady McGonagall?" asked Lady Margaux Selwyn of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Selwyn, an rather dainty looking olive-skinned lady with caramel colored curls and a prominent Roman nose.

"Yes, Lady Selwyn." Durand adjusted her spectacles ruefully. "I saw Lady McGonagall's Patronus with Snape, who was the first one to be called. It said that it was an emergency, so I sent my own Patronus to inform the class that I would be delayed before following them."

"You had no prior knowledge on what was to happen in that classroom, yes?"

"Of course not. I was preparing myself for the worst, but never in my wildest dreams could I have foreseen something like this!"

"Hem, hem," came the sickeningly familiar cough that made Ron want to gag. And from the way Bones said, "acknowledging Ms. Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic," it was clear to him that she felt the same.

"You were at Hogwarts when Mr. Pettigrew and Mr. Black were still at school, were you not, Ms. Durand?" Umbridge asked.

Durand blinked slowly before nodding. "Yes, Ms. Umbridge."

"How well would you say you knew Mr. Pettgirew? Even just by reputation?"

"At best? As Lady McGonagall had said, an average student. At worst?" Durand pursed her lips. "He was something perceived as a hang-on, a tag along to his group of friends. Unlike him, Lord Potter, Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin were quite popular among the students and staff. It was a wonder to many why they would be friends with Pettigrew, who was obviously leagues below them."

"Ah, so could this line of thinking may have influenced his decision to betray them? Would you not say so?"

"…I can see why that would be the case. But I am in no position to affirm such a conclusion."

The court asked a few more questions—getting nothing of real value, in Ron's opinion— before calling for the third witness. Oddly enough, Snape seemed to be enjoying his time at the stand.

"Yes, I shared some classes with Pettigrew." The man said with obvious disdain. "And as my colleague, Ms. Durand said, Pettigrew had been far from noteworthy as a student or a person, and whatever attention he did get, it was because of his association with his ragtag group of friends."

"So, you can confirm that Pettigrew had no apparent inclination to turn Dark?" Asked the beautiful dark-haired lady who Bones introduced as "Lady Atropa Zabini of the Noble House of Zabini."

Lady Zabini? Ron echoed in his head. No wonder she looked familiar! She is a near identical female version of her son! Now that I think about it, isn't she the one they call the Black Widow, marrying seven times, with each husband dying mysteriously shortly after marriage, leaving her richer every time? Many say that there's foul play involved, but no one could prove it.

"If by that you mean spouting hatred towards Muggleborns and blood impurity? No. He's not in the position to either." Snape snapped. "Nor does he have the will to. Pettigrew is a rat through and through. Spineless. Weak. Worthless without his sickeningly glamorous friends. The worst he can do is bite the hand that fed him while their guard was down, a foolish mistake brought about by Black's arrogance and Potter's stupidity."

There was a squeak, and Ron turned to see Remus holding Sirius down, whispering furiously at the emaciated man who was looking ready to fly for a punch at Snape's sneering mug. The boy could hardly blame him. Even his mother muttered something along the lines of "what a foul thing to say!" from behind him.

Nevertheless, the trial proceeded without anyone getting their faces punched in, and the boy really hoped that the court would be happy with three witnesses whose stories tied in pretty well together. Dumbledore mentioned that it wasn't standard procedure to make a key witness such as Ron be the last to be called, but the older man wanted to keep Ron from the stand if it was possible.

Unfortunately, things didn't turn out that way.

"We believe that you have one more witness, Lord Dumbledore?" Zabini asked after Snape was dismissed.

Dumbledore's lips tilted downwards slightly. "With all due respect, my Lords and Ladies, would that be necessary?"

One of the blonds in the court raised their hands, to which Bones promptly said. "Acknowledging Lord Janus Haywood of the Noble House of Haywood."

Ron's eyes widened in recognition. Haywood? There's someone in the Ancient Runes club with that surname! Beatrice, I think?

"It is interesting that the catalyst that led to this trial is saved for last," Haywood said, his eyes twinkling the same way Dumbledore's would. "Personally, I do not see the need for your reservation. Minor or not, a witness is a witness, isn't he, Professor Dumbledore?"

Fudge cleared his throat. "I must agree, Dumbledore, seeing as the boy is already here. Might as well have him wrap up the whole trial."

Ron grit his teeth but held his tongue while the Headmaster sighed deeply. "As the Court wishes, I call Ronald Weasley to the stand."

He felt a couple of hands clap him on the back, and heard his father whisper, "It will be all right," as he numbly made his way to the podium.

Come on, Weasley, get a grip. You practised for this. Besides, with all the evidence, a guilty verdict is a definite given. Just remember what Dumbledore and Percy taught you—

Wait! It was a couple of steps from the stand that Ron remembered to stand straight and bow. "Honored Lords and Ladies of the Court, good morning."

Shite! Nearly messed that up! Thank Merlin I remembered!

There was a soft chuckle, a man's voice. "A Weasley who remembers his Pureblood manners. You trained him well, Dumbledore."

It took all of Ron's willpower to not look for whoever the hell said that and glare him to death.

Focus, Weasley. Focus.

"The Court acknowledges Ronald Weasley of the Most Ancient House of Weasley." Bones said without missing a beat. "Professor Dumbledore, if you would."

"Of course." Dumbledore turned to him with a kind smile. "Now, dear boy, do tell the court what happened from your end."

"…Pettigrew, Scabbers, as we used to call him, my brother Percy first saw him in our garden, sleeping near the watering can…"

If was a surreal experience, talking without really focusing on the conversation going on. Maybe because he had recited this story so many times that he really didn't have to pay much attention to finish it or even answer Dumbledore's questions correctly.

"I got him from Percy after he got his own owl, Hermes. I never really liked that smelly old shoe brush though, planned to keep him locked away all school year…"

But aside from a few minor details, everything he had to say was already mentioned by the Professors. He wasn't really adding anything new to the trial, so why did the Court want him to speak?

"Then I read in one of the books in the library, about Animagi, and had this thought: how can we know if an animal's an Animagus? So I went to ask Professor McGonagall and…"

Can't they just declare Pettigrew as guilty and throw his rat's arse to Azkaban already?

"Ronald Weasley."

Ron blinked out of his stupor when Haywood spoke again. "What?" Another blink. "Err, yes, my Lord?"

"So Pettigrew had been your rat for…" The blond man paused to think, "about ten years, correct?"

"Yes, my Lord. But I really only had him for a little more than six months."

"And all that time, you never once found him to be suspicious?"

"No. I didn't like him, sure, but…" Ron's nose crinkled. "But I wouldn't go as far as to say I thought he was a Death Eater in disguise."

Haywood smiled. "Just to confirm your previous statement, you had no suspicions about Pettigrew's identity at any point in time, even during the time you presented him to Professor McGonagall for a demonstration."

It felt like a cold sweat went down his spine but Ron could not tell why. "Yes, my Lord."

"It's just that it is rather odd, isn't it?" The blond lord continued. "That you just happened to come across information on Animagi—something rarely, if ever, heard of from someone your age—then suddenly thought of the possibility of Animagi running around disguised in their animal forms; and then went to your Transfiguration Professor to ask about it, while you just happened to have Pettigrew with you all the while."

Huh?

"A little…too convenient if you ask me." Haywood finished with a sharp glance that made Ron's hairs stand on end. "Would you not agree?"

Ron was sorely tempted to look away from the man's penetrating grey eyes (He can't be a Legillimens, can he? And even if he were, he wouldn't dare do it in Court, right in front Dumbledore?!) "…What are you getting at, Lord Haywood?"

But before the man could speak again, his smile becoming more and more uncomfortable to see by the second, a hand was raised.

"Acknowledging Lord Aidoneus Greengrass of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass."

Ron had lost how many times he had done double takes today. Greengrass?!

The second blond next to Haywood—who Ron had mistaken for a woman because he was that fair-looking—said in a sharp tone. "With all due respect, Lord Haywood, I do not see where you are going with this line of questioning, nor how will it affect the end result of this case."

The boy could not help but smirk when he saw the man's face fall a bit. "Lord Greengrass—"

"I concur with Lord Greengrass' point, Lord Haywood. Moreover," Dumbledore cut in smoothly, although the look in his blue eyes was quite cold. "Need I remind you, that you are questioning a minor?"

"…Ah, of course," Haywood nodded, his eyes closed behind his smile. "My apologies."

Seemingly satisfied, Greengrass met Ron's eyes. "Mr. Weasley."

The boy straightened in his chair again. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Was there ever a point in time that Pettigrew may have caused harm onto you or your family?"

That was something Ron did not expect. "No. Not that I'm aware of. He was just a lazy rat, trying to stay out of sight, really."

Greengrass' gaze caught Ron's for a good minute, but unlike with Haywood, it didn't feel as threatening or uncomfortable. Though it did feel like a minute too long before he finally nodded. "Very well."

…That was odd.

But before he could dwell on it further, he heard McMillan call for his attention again, this time to rehash everything he shared with the court and ironing out a few key points. He was beyond relieved to return to his drifting focus state because that time with Haywood really bothered him.

If someone who barely knew him could pull that sort of conclusion out of their arse—something frighteningly close to the truth—who said that someone who interacted with him on a daily basis won't do the same?

Someone like Snape, or even Dumbledore?

…Ravenclaw's puckering peckers! Can someone please get this bloody trial over with so I can get back on more important things already?! Like kicking a Dark Lord's arse or keeping my memories safe from bloody mind rapists?!

It was just Ron, Bill and Charlie in the seventh year Gryffindors' dorm that morning, with the twins eagerly taking Ginny on an impromptu tour of Hogwarts while Percy remained with their parents and Dumbledore, probably discussing the trial again. Because it was so close to the holiday season, Dumbledore arranged for the Weasleys to spend Christmas at Hogwarts, with the children occupying the Gryffindor Tower, which was mostly empty by now, while Arthur and Molly Weasley were to stay in a specific guest room in the castle.

And since he was sick of listening about the bloody thing (although really, he just wanted to spend time with his oldest brothers), Ron quickly volunteered to help Bill and Charlie unpack at the vacated Gryffindor male tower. The older Weasleys were quite happy about being back in their old room again, so much that it was as if they were back to being students again, with Charlie jumping onto the bedspread eagle style while Bill lay down laughing with his hands behind his head.

"I can't believe how much I missed this place!" Charlie said jovially. "Only a year away and being back, I suddenly wish I didn't have to leave!"

"The pains of growing up, Charlie." Bill laughed pleasantly. "Might as well make the most out of it then, right?"

"Soft bed. All the free food I can eat. A giant Quidditch pitch where I can fly all day long—"

"I think we need permission for that—"

"It's the bloody holidays, Bill! Not even Oliver is that obsessed with Quidditch practice, and that bloke's whole world revolves around it!" Charlie huffed before turning to Ron. "By the way, heard you lot won the last game against Slytherin."

Ron smirked from where he was seated on the floor at the center of the room. "Flattened them. Gryffindor's got a strong team this year. You should see Harry on a broom, Charlie. I swear he was born to fly!"

"Speaking of Harry," Bill sat up. "You said that he's spending the holidays here too?"

"Yeah, but it's a good thing." The boy's face darkened. "He said his relatives were downright nasty. With him here, he could get a shot at having a real Christmas."

Charlie grinned. "Looks like we Weasleys should show him how this holiday thing is done, eh? Even saw Mum bring her knitting set along for the ride. Reckon we ought to tell her about Harry?"

"Done just that," said Ron rather proudly. "Wrote to her once that Harry will be spending the holidays here because his relatives are awful and never gave him a good Christmas ever. Bet she's already working on his Weasley sweater if it's not done already."

"Of course you would, Ron." Bill was eyeing Ron with such an odd, soft look on his face that it made the youngest boy look away uncomfortably. He knew it wasn't much, but even in the first life, Ron felt that since he could do way less on his own, he thought that by asking for his mum's help, he'll be able to make Harry's first Christmas at Hogwarts a lot more fun and meaningful, the same way those Christmas dinners with his family were for Ron.

"A—Anyway, I still can't believe you could leave work for the holidays!" Ron went on. "Can you and Charlie go on leave like this every year?"

"Not really. Well, not for me. The goblins don't really see Christmas as a holiday. Instead, they have their own festivals different from our own." Bill winced at the memory. "Very,  very  different. But since this is a special case, and since I have proven myself to be somewhat trustworthy, they granted my request."

Charlie shrugged. "New blood like me normally won't be able to take holidays off until a year later. But as Bill said it's a special case. The folks back at Romania get it."

Ron remembered that after Bill and Charlie left home, they hadn't been around for the holidays for a while because the nature of their jobs didn't allow them. It was only during Ron's fifth year when Bill requested a transfer to a desk job and Charlie somehow managed to find the time, that the older two were able to spend Christmas with the family again.

(But it wasn't really the whole family because Percy left them by then.)

He remembered their mother bringing it up once to Bill and Charlie back then, to which Bill sheepishly responded that it was because the Goblins didn't really see Christmas as a holiday while Charlie said that his workload back at the reserve won't let him just drop everything and take a break.

But yet they're here for my trial and for Christmas. Ron thought with a frown. I appreciate the thought, honestly. But…why only now? What makes now different? Does it really have to take something like this for them to come over more often? It's not fair. I barely get to spend time with Bill and Charlie. By the time I had a working brain, they were always off somewhere, be it Hogwarts or one of their other friends. And whenever they do have time to come home…they're always with someone else…

A second later, he mentally slapped himself.

Dunderhead! Why are you complaining so much? Bill and Charlie are busy with work, that's why they can't come. But they try to visit whenever they can, right? Like back at the Quidditch World Cup! They have their own lives now. It's not fair to ask for what little time they have left for themselves. Merlin, Ron, why are you still such a brat?

"Don't worry too much about it." Charlie continued. "You really think Bill and I would just pop in here without working something out with our bosses?"

"This is a big trial, Ron, and of course, we'd want to be here to support you," Bill added gently. "Besides, it's a chance to spend the holidays together again. Why won't we be up for that?"

Then why were you not around for three Christmases? Another mental slap. Bratty Ron, shut the fuck up! "…If you say so…"

"Really, Ron, you're starting to sound as if you don't want me and Charlie around anymore," Bill said with a look of mock hurt. "Are we too old for you now, little man? Too cool for his working-class big brothers?"

"I've got a Curse Breaker and a Dragon Tamer for working-class big brothers." Ron deadpanned. "If anything, you're the ones who're too cool for me."

There was a creak that made Ron look up, right in time for his head to connect with a flying hand, making the boy cry out. "Ouch! Charlie!"

Only for Ron to shrink back when he saw the fire in Charlie's eyes. "Who the hell taught you to talk shite like that?"

"Charlie!" Bill said warningly while Ron rubbed his head in confusion. "Wh—what—? What the hell's with you all of a sudden?"

"I should be the one asking you that! First, you make a big deal over us being here, and now you're talking as if you're dirt under our boots!" The second oldest Weasley scowled. "Do I have to keep smacking the back of your head until it sinks in? We're here because we want to be here! Because we actually want to be here for our family so we're looking for every excuse we can so stop acting like we think it's a drag or I swear to all things magical, I will hit you again!"

"OK, OK, I get it!" Ron waved his hands frantically in surrender. "Godric's pants, isn't this borderline child abuse?!"

Charlie shrugged. "Not if I'm doing it for a better cause."

"How is giving me brain damage a better cause?"

"All right, Charlie, back off. You already made your point." Bill came to his feet, making a shooing gesture at the dragon tamer who groaned with a shake of his head. "But I do get how you feel. And if Ron says something like that again, I might end up flicking his head first."

The poor boy openly gawked. "Come on, not you too, Bill!"

But the hand that landed on Ron's head was far gentler, and the light in Bill's eyes reminded the boy of slow-burning embers. "Merlin, you really have no idea how much you worried Charlie and me, have you?"

"…Huh?"

"Barely a year away from home for the first time and suddenly you're involved in a Death Eater's trial. I suppose I should be grateful that you or Percy didn't get hurt but…" Bill's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. " Please don't tell me you're planning to give the twins a run for their money. They already get into enough trouble without trying to get into one. I won't want to have to worry about you too."

Ron couldn't help but drop his gaze, guilt churning in his stomach in waves. He knew Bill and Charlie cared for him, but…he never thought it would be this much. Or have they always? Why can't he remember…?

Something suddenly turned warm in his pocket, and he barely stopped himself from pulling out the Deluminator-like device from it. But his hand did manage to touch the metal, causing a flash of images and voices…

"Cursed, confunded and attacked by brains." Bill, shaking his head, running a weathered hand through a sleeping Ron's head. "Merlin, Ronnie, do you even know how lucky you are to be alive right now?"

"Stupid little rascal, getting poisoned on your birthday. Making me worry out of my mind all the way from Romania." A grumbling Charlie, downing a tin of beer while mussing his red bangs in agitation. "I ought to hex all your hair off the next time I see you!"

The boy barely suppressed a cry. What the hell?

A hoarsely sobbing Charlie, violently trembling over Ron's unmoving body. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier! I'm sorry for never being around but I'm here! Big brother's here now and big brother's not leaving you ever again…!"

"This can't be it…!" Bill's hands were shaking so hard they nearly tore the parchment in two. "This can't be…this can't be all that I have left of him!"

More visions? Ron shook his head when the last of them faded from view. Bloody hell! What set that off this time?! And can't they at least come with a better warning next—

"Don't give him any other ideas, Bill! " Charlie glared at Bill then at Ron. "And you better not, Ronald Weasley! The twins' antics are enough grey hair inducing nightmares!"

Bill laughed. "You know you are not really in the position to talk, Charlie."

"But we're not talking about me, are we? We're talking about this little rascal who is a born magnet for trouble!" The dragon tamer rolled his eyes. "Remember all that shite he got into back when he was a tot? Like what happened with the Lovegoods just last year?"

"Now to be fair, if Ron hadn't been—"

"I don't give a shite if he saved the whole bloody world that day! Point is, he could have gotten killed and he was only fucking—!"

"Charlie, language!"

Ron ducked his head, hoping that his debating brothers didn't notice his burning ears.

They don't know about the troll, do they? Do they? Merlin, please don't let them find out about the troll…

DAILY PROPHET SPECIAL EDITION

THE TRIAL OF THE DECADE!

PETER PETTIGREW FOUND GUILTY! SENTENCED TO LIFE IMPRISONMENT IN AZKABAN!

SIRIUS BLACK, CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES!

So remember how back in the Halloween chapter, when the word length got too long that I had to cut it in two?

Well, it happened again. Yay!

By the way, for those who may be wondering why the Haywoods are part of the Noble Houses, some clarification: I do NOT consider the Hogwarts Mystery game's story as canon, but I will borrow some of the characters there, as well as some other franchises in HP lore. The way nobility works in this fanfic will also be explained in the future, so if all those titles leave you confused, don't worry about it. :)

To those of you who are still reading this, thank you very much for your time, and consider leaving a review if you liked it!

So I hope you all enjoyed your early Christmas gift. Happy Holidays to you all and see you in the next one.

UP NEXT:
The Trial over, all Ron wants now is a nice, uneventful Christmas vacation with his family and Harry. Wait, did someone say uneventful? Not if a certain mirror has something to say about it!

Chapter Text

Happy New Year!

2020 has been a difficult year for everyone, but let's all hang in there! Here's to a hopefully better 2021 for us all.

Many thanks to my beta, A.C. nelli, for their continued dedication to TBA. This chapter wouldn't have made it to the end of 2020 if not for them. Major kudos!

Also, thank you very much to all my anonymous reviewers. Since I don't have the means to reply to you personally, please accept my public appreciation for your time here. Tracey, thank you for reviewing most of the chapters in one go. Getting positive feedback really helps build the confidence that I'm doing something right, but don't hesitate to send criticism I can work on.

Speaking of criticism, there's an extra note at the end for an anonymous reviewer (Guest). I am addressing the post because they raised good points and I have no way to reply personally. If any other readers have the same concerns as them, feel free to read and decide for yourself if I make sense.

Chapter Twelve:

Erised Straeh Ruoy

"Based on insurmountable evidence, we hereby pronounce defendant Peter Thaddeus Pettigrew guilty for twelve counts of manslaughter of the twelve muggles of 1991, and an accomplice to the murders of Lord James Fleamont Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter." Minister Cornelius Fudge read out the verdict in a grave tone. "We also pronounce Sirius Orion Black of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black as not guilty and cleared of all his previous charges effective immediately."

Furious whispering erupted around Ron, including those from his family who were audibly relieved for the rightful verdict and that the trial was finally over. His father clapped him proudly on the back ("Excellent work, son!") and his mother hurried over to engulf him in a bone-crushing hug. Charlie let out a hearty laugh over Ron's flustered expression in Molly's arms while Bill smoothed the youngest Weasley's head affectionately.

"As such," Amelia Bones said over the growing noise. "Mr. Pettigrew is to serve fifteen sentences of life imprisonment in Azkaban with no parole. For Mr. Black, reparation for years of unjust imprisonment and other damages will be up for further discussion, with a minimum of 1,000 galleons per year of imprisonment, amounting to a total of 10,000 galleons—"

From the corner of his eye, Ron saw Dumbledore shaking hands with Sirius, who appeared younger than Ron ever remembered him looking, owing to the light that made the man's grey eyes glow with new life. Remus too was beaming when he shook hands and talked further with the Headmaster while Sirius' attention went to Andromeda and Tonks.

All of it made Ron smile proudly to himself. This whole mess stressed the hell out of him, but causing such a positive change was definitely worth it. It might cause a huge difference in the flow of events, maybe it will make things even more difficult for him, but if it would mean that three people would live happier lives before Voldemort comes back, then Ron was willing to take the risk.

I just hope Sirius will be able to convince Dumbledore that they can keep Harry safe without the blood wards. And if protecting the Dursleys should be an issue, we can just lock them away with a Fidelus somewhere or whatever the Order did with them the last time. I don't know. I don't really want to think too much about these freaks.

"—other terms and conditions regarding Mr. Black's remuneration shall be discussed by the defendant and the Department of Magical Enforcement after this trial. We wish to thank our Esteemed Lords and Ladies of the Court for taking part in this trial and for their services in deciding the verdict and—"

Laughter.

The shrill, hysterical, bone-chilling kind that made the entire courtroom freeze. Peter Pettigrew, who had been quiet up to this point, had suddenly thrown his head back and laughed so loudly it was grating to listen to. Everyone else around him stared at each other in confusion although a few pulled their wands out, ready in case the hysterics gave way…

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"

What? Ron's eyes widened when Pettigrew sharply jolted forward from where he stood with the Aurors. The two burly men in grey robes managed to hold the smaller man back, but to Ron's shock, it appeared that they were struggling, straining to prevent the suddenly seemingly rabid Pettigrew, bucking and twisting frantically at his bonds, raving like a famished, enraged beast.

"TEN YEARS!" Peter spat viciously. "TEN FUCKING YEARS IN YOUR MISERABLE SHACK AND NO ONE EVER KNEW! I WOULD HAVE STAYED OUT OF THE WAY, WOULD HAVE GOTTEN AWAY! BUT YOU! YOU NOSEY PRICK! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING"

Ron growled at the venom in the man's eyes and voice, his body taut and alert for the possibility of a fight. Was that supposed to scare me? Idiot piece of shite, you are the last thing I'll be afraid of!

He tightened his grip on his wand, blood pounding in his ears. Come at me, you pathetic excuse for a wizard, and I swear to Merlin I'll rip you a new—!

Suddenly, a pair of arms lurched him back—when did he step forward?— and his vision was blocked by three robed backs.

"YOU USED TO BE A DUMB, LITTLE TAGALONG THAT NO ONE GIVES A FLYING SHITE ABOUT! BUT THEN YOU BECAME LIKE  THEM!  SO SMART, SO POPULAR, SO FUCKING PERFECT!" He heard scuffling and shouts from Bones to "drag the bloody prisoner to the back room already!", but Pettigrew's voice rang over them all. "BUT I'LL MAKE YOU PAY, YOU MEDDLING BRAT! JUST YOU FUCKING WAIT! YOU'LL SCREAM AND BEG FOR DEATH WHILE I MAKE ANOTHER LONGBOTTOM OUT OF YOU!"

There were audibly sharp intakes of breath, a shocked cry from his mother and a furious roar.

"WHY YOU SICK MOTHERFUCKER—!"

"Charlie!" It took all of Arthur and Bill's combined effort to restrain Charlie, who looked ready to burn Pettigrew's face off. Good thing one of the Aurors finally remembered that he could stun the Animagus before the dragon tamer could do it. Ron didn't want his brother getting in trouble because of that bastard.

Yet the screams went on, raving and ringing in his head, even after Molly put her shaking hands over his ears.

"—PAY! I'LL MAKE YOU PAY! MARK MY WORDS, WEASLEY! I WILL GET OUT! AND YOU! I WILL MAKE YOU WISH THAT YOU WERE NEVER BORN!"

"Ronnie?"

Ron barely suppressed a cry when he heard someone call from the Common Room couch. He internally cursed himself for being so out of it he hadn't noticed he wasn't as alone as he thought.

"Ginny? What are you doing up so early? Can't sleep?" He knew it wasn't even five in the morning yet (his alarm charm hadn't gone off) and since they all turned in pretty late last night, he assumed his family would still be asleep by now.

The younger redhead, looking rather adorable in her faded pink sleeping gown adorned with red and rosy hearts, blushed with a scratch to her eyes. "No, not really. It's a bit silly, but," she shrugged. "It's my first time here at Hogwarts. I know I'll be coming here too next year, but…"

Ron smiled. "I get it, Gin. The first night at Hogwarts is always amazing. But wait till your first night as a first year. Not a lot of experiences can top that!"

Ginny pouted. "You still won't tell me how you got sorted."

"And ruin the fun? Nah, can't do that to you, Gin." He smirked. "Besides, what's there to worry about? You're gonna make Gryffindor, for sure!"

The girl rolled her eyes. "Says the one who kept whining about it to Fred and George last year."

"Oi, I do not whine!" Ron puffed his chest.

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"The twins thought so!"

"Bah, they think I whine all the time!"

"Because you do?"

Ron mock glared. "That's it! Just so you know, you asked for this!"

"…Oh no."

"THE TICKLE MONSTER ATTACK!"

"NOOOOO!" Ginny squealed and laughed as Ron went all out on the poking and tickling, chortling as he did so. It felt so long since he was able to have fun with his sister like this, and it was a welcome relief after the stressful months he had.

Especially after his recent nightmare.

"You're doing it again."

"Huh?" Ron blinked when Ginny called out to him with a frown.

"Like you've seen another gnome coming in from the fence after clearing the garden. But…angrier. A lot angrier."

The time traveller sighed lowly. He hadn't meant for anyone to notice it. How long had his sister been watching him? "Sorry, Ginny. Didn't mean to worry you."

"Of course I'm worried, Ron. We all are," said Ginny. "You've been out of sorts since you came back from the trial. Even Dad and Bill looked pissed! I never thought I'd see them THAT angry!"

It was a huge shock to Percy, Fred, George and Ginny to see their parents, Bill, Charlie and Ron looking far from happy at their victory over the trial. Molly, pale and shaking, had kept such a strong grip on Ron's shoulders that the boy was worried his arms would fall off at any given moment. Charlie, on the other hand, had a deep scowl etched on his face, his ears bright red and his tightly clenched fists near bone white. Arthur and Bill may have looked all right, but any Weasley could tell by their rigid postures, their strained gestures and the frigid storms rumbling in their eyes that they too were as enraged as Charlie obviously had been.

The remaining Weasley children were naturally quick to ask for more information, being already antsy over the fact that they weren't allowed to attend the trial because they were minors. Molly had given them a very watered-down version of the trial's events: the Professors and Ron telling their accounts, the Court asking follow-up questions, the obvious guilty verdict and Sirius' name being cleared.

Which was fine and good, but didn't really explain what provoked such rage from most of the Weasleys who attended the trial, much to Ron's other siblings' chagrin. But even Arthur had put his foot down that that was that, and Bill and Charlie weren't forthcoming either.

I'm actually surprised it took Ginny this long to ask me about it. Ron thought. I'm even more surprised that she's the first to do it. I was expecting Percy to crack earlier since he was more involved.

Then again, the way Bill and Charlie had all but hogged Ron's time yesterday could be another reason. Bloody hell, he had expected a bit of coddling from Bill (who had always been a bit of a mother hen, to be honest), but Charlie? Seriously, the way his second oldest brother behaved yesterday, one would have thought Pettigrew would shoot out of a rat hole any second to take Ron away with him to Azkaban.

The only reason he hadn't displayed his exasperation outright was that he was more afraid of Charlie's legendary temper blowing up on him. And between that and a Hungarian Horntail guarding its egg, he'd choose the latter in a heartbeat.

But back to the matter at hand: what should he tell Ginny? And, by extension, the twins and Percy? He honestly didn't know why his parents and oldest brothers didn't tell them of Pettigrew's meltdown at the trial. Ron honestly found it to be unnecessary drama, the last-ditch effort to be considered a threat by a doomed coward. But he really didn't see the point of lying to his other siblings about it either.

Why not a half-truth?

"It was because of Pettigrew." Ron finally answered. "The trial went pretty well, even though some of the Lords were being ar—err, difficult. But then, after the verdict, the rat suddenly had this epic breakdown. Downright horrible sight, Ginny. Would have made anyone pissed, really."

Ginny's nose wrinkled. "Because he was scared that he was going to Azkaban?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"But that still doesn't explain why it made Mum, Dad, Bill and Charlie so—" Suddenly, Ginny's expression turned hard. "He didn't threaten you, did he?"

Shite. On second thought, maybe this was why he shouldn't have said anything, after all. "Err, not really—"

"Ron…"

"Why does it matter?" The boy exhaled in irritation. "Pettigrew's going to Azkaban for life, without parole! So, what if he blames me for that and made a few threats here and there? It's not as if he's going to break out of there, is he?! Empty threats, Ginny! That's all they are! So, can everyone please just stop acting as if he's going to pop out of a rat hole and blow my head off?!"

The younger Weasley's eyes were wide before they narrowed again in bright anger. "Don't talk like that, Ron!"

Ron groaned tiredly. "My point is that even if Pettigrew can become a threat somehow—which he won't be—he's already locked away in the most secure prison in Wizarding Britain. And no one's escaped Azkaban, ever." Except Sirius, but that's a different story. He took a breath. "He's not going to get me, Ginny."

"...How do you know that?" The way his little sister's voice suddenly sounded so small made his heart stop. "What if he does get out? What if he comes after you? I don't know if he's strong, but he is still an adult wizard and you're, we're still underage. I...I don't want you to get hurt by that man, Ronnie."

Oh, Ginny. Ron couldn't help but pull his sister into a hug. Years of seeing his sister grow into a fierce, headstrong spitfire of a witch made it easy for him to forget that under all that, the sweet, big-hearted little girl he grew up with still remained. And while Ginny was brave even at this age, she was still, in fact, a child.

It was selfish of him, but he found himself learning to cherish these moments when she was still looking to him for reassurance. Because he knew—it had already happened before—that it won't last forever.

"I'll be fine," Ron said confidently with a smile. "Maybe I'm not of age yet, but I'm learning a lot of magic. And until I graduate, I'll be spending most of my days in Hogwarts, with all the cool teachers who can beat Pettigrew all the way to Pluto! But best of all," He squeezed her shoulder. "I've got my kick-arse family to watch my back. That rat won't have anything on my little spitfire once she starts learning magic!"

The way Ginny could switch from downright sad to fired up was both fascinating and scary to Ron, if he was honest. "Right. Don't you worry, Ronnie! Once I get to Hogwarts next year, I'll learn so many new spells and hexes no one's going to dare mess with you!"

"That's the spirit!" Although you're not the one who needs to protect me. Silly little spitfire, it should be the other way around. "And if someone tries to mess with you, just let your big brother at 'em. I ought to show them no one gets away with bullying my little spitfire!"

"If I have to." Ginny rolled her eyes fondly with a smile, making Ron breathe a sigh of relief before he remembered. "Seriously, Gin, you don't have to worry about me anymore. Especially not about Pettigrew trying to come after me, all right? You're going to Hogwarts in a few months and you need to focus on all the fun you'll be having and the homework you'll be getting when that comes. Got it?"

Another eye roll, this time with a sigh. "Yes, mum."

"And no telling Percy or the twins, OK?" Ron said quickly before Ginny could voice a protest. "Come on, Ginny, we agreed it's not a big deal! I just want to forget about that whole nonsense, focus on what's left of the holidays."

Ginny swallowed under Ron's pleading blue eyes. "You know, it's illegal to use the puppy dog eyes on younger siblings…"

"As long as it works, I don't care."

"...Oh, all right, fine. It's not like Bill and Charlie are going to say anything about it anyway. But you will owe me for this, Ronnie."

The boy shrugged easily. "Sure. What do I owe you, then?"

Ginny blinked in surprise, probably not expecting Ron so quickly agreeing with her. "Err, I don't know. A favour, I guess—?"

GROWL!

Both siblings stared dumbly at each other before laughing again over their stomachs groaning at almost the same time.

"Would you look at that? All this talking made me as hungry as you are," said Ginny with a wry grin. "Too bad it's still too early for breakfast."

That's true. Breakfast doesn't get served until at least six, and that's more than an hour away... It took a few seconds before a bolt of inspiration kicked in.

The eighteen-turned-eleven-year-old grinned widely. "Say, Ginny, instead of a favour, why don't I let you in on a little secret?"

Though there weren't a lot who stayed over at Gryffindor Tower for Christmas, the Weasley family's presence made it so lively and homely that it hardly felt empty at all. Since they only had a few days left together for the holidays, the Weasley children made the most out of it by taking over Hogwarts by storm and dragging Harry along for the fun.

Arthur would ask about Muggles and their strange contraptions—including that mystical wonder known as the rubber duck—while Molly fussed over his appearance or his appetite ("Don't be shy, dear. You need to eat more!"). Bill and Charlie, who were just as interested in the Boy-Who-Lived as he was in them, regaled Harry with tales of their exploits in Egypt and Romania. The twins and Ron would often drag Harry into various games, from Exploding Snap matches in the Common Room to impromptu snowball fights with the other Weasley siblings. Even Percy joined in on a few of them, pelting Fred and George with charmed snowballs that relentlessly chased them wherever they went. Ginny was a downright stuttering, butterfingered mess when Harry was around, something Fred and George were quick to poke fun at every possible opportunity. Ron let them at it only because he knew the days of Ginny not being able to fight back were numbered.

Besides, Ron had his own fun showing Harry and his family who the real king was at Wizarding Chess. Although he had to admit, that match against his father was the most challenging he had in a while now (second to that game with It). Ron felt that he only won by the skin of his teeth, but Arthur had been immensely proud of the skilled gameplay and promised Ron a rematch back at the Burrow.

The youngest Weasley boy's face lit up so brightly at his father's words that it could outshine any Christmas light.

Harry too looked like he was having the time of his life with the Weasleys, so much that he most likely forgot to research about Flamel (although Ron wasn't really inclined to remind him. It's Christmas, for Merlin's sake!). From the hilarious snowball fights to lazy evenings downing hot chocolate and toasting whatever they could over the fireplace, Ron was happy to see Harry turning in for the night with a huge smile on his face every time.

It made the coming Christmas morning all the more memorable.

"Presents!" Harry gasped in disbelief over the pile of colorfully wrapped packages at the foot of his bed. "I've got presents!"

Ron shrugged with a smirk. "What were you expecting? Turnips? Now get to it, Potter! I see something that suspiciously looks like a pack of Every Flavored Beans and I want in on it!"

Harry eyed him balefully. "But you're already having your share!"

The redhead waved his hand before shoving it into the open bag of candied beans. "No, these are my beans, not yours. So hop to it!"

Ron had already gotten around unwrapping most of his presents by the time Harry woke up, having chosen to forego his morning run in favour of spending Christmas morning with his family, which had actually been a surprising haul. He got the same as in his old life: a box of Every Flavored Beans from Hermione, the traditional Weasley sweater and a box of fudge from his mother, a new snowy white quill and some ink from his father, some Exploding Snap card packs from the twins, and a homework planner from Percy.

What caught him off guard were the additional gifts: a fancy looking leather pouch from Bill, a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Charlie, a brown leather satchel from Neville, and the biggest surprises of all: a wand holster, made from what looked to be Hebridean Black leather, a Gryffindor-colored scarf, as well as a silver chain bracelet, running through charms that seemed to resemble some sort of fruit.

Ron had been so shocked over the gift that it took him half a minute to finally take hold of them. What the hell? Who on earth would send me something like this? And… He blinked at the bracelet. There's something...oddly familiar about this bracelet…

Something at the corner of Ron's eye then caught his attention: a folded parchment with two distinct handwritings, the first being tidier and cursive:

Dear Ronald,

Blessed be.

We apologize for not being around to see you off this school year, but rest assured that you are always in our thoughts here in Londonderry. Wishing you a happy Christmas and a fruitful New Year ahead, and looking forward to seeing you this summer.

Our well wishes,

Xenophilius and Pandora Lovegood

PS: Congratulations on making it to Gryffindor! Keep on making us proud, Ronald.

And the second, still cursive but with bigger lettering and distinctly childlike scrawl:

Dearest Brother Ron,

Hello from Londonderry!

I hope this letter finds you well. I'm sorry for not having written to you sooner. Mum and Dad are doing much better now, although we have yet to find the nargles. But don't worry, I'm sure we'll find them in no time. Hopefully, once Mum is well rested enough, we'll be able to come back home soon. Ireland is lovely, but I miss Ottery St. Catchpole very much.

Happy Christmas to you and your family. Don't let the Wrackspurts bite, and give Ginny a big hug from me please.

Lots of love,

Luna

PS: Do you like the bracelet? I made it myself. The Dirigible plums will help you with your studies because Daddy always said that it makes one wiser.

You're plenty smart on your own, I know. But we can all use a bit more. :)

...Godric's pants, no bloody way. Ron's gaze went from the letter to the gifts then back again. The Lovegoods gave me these. But why? I don't remember being friends with Luna before fifth year, and even then, we haven't been close enough for her to call me… He read the letter again. Brother Ron? That's...new. Not that I don't like it, but it still doesn't answer my question. And who is Pandora? Another pause then a shake of his head. No, that can't be Luna's mum. She's dead, isn't she? From messing up a spell, if I remember it right. Or did that also—?

And, as if on cue, his Deluminator warmed once again, but at least Ron had enough awareness—or maybe it was him getting used to the thing's sudden episodes—to make him mentally groan. Not this again—

The sound of magic vibrating in his ears; of choking and flailing; of a little girl crying.

"Mummy! Mummy! MUMMY!"

A circle of rocks, glowing with strange letters. The vibrations, louder, the closer they are.

"Lu...ack...Lu…"

FLASH!

"Help, Ginny!" A boy's voice pierced through the choking and the wailing. "Go get help! The Floo!"

A harsh tug on the rocks, small and jagged but oddly heavy…

"Budge, you stupid piece of rock! Budge!"

Crying. Choking. Crying. Choking—

"MOVE!"

FLASH! BOOM!

A crack. A hiss. A scream.

And a loud, desperate gasp of air.

"MUMMY!"

...Bloody hell! Needless to say, Ron was shaken by the vision that left him with more questions than answers, but he did manage to pull himself together just in time to act nonchalant while munching on jelly beans by the time Harry woke up. And because Harry was so distracted by the idea of having real Christmas presents, he wasn't able to notice Ron dropping his laidback act for a more pensive look behind his pack of beans.

One thing that I did get from that vision is that Luna's mum is most likely alive and that Ginny had been around at the time with Luna. But how did it happen? What even went wrong? And who saved her? Ron frowned in irritation. Bloody vision not giving me enough information. The least it could have done is show me who Ginny was with. Maybe I could ask her before she leaves for the Burrow. Got to pass Luna's regards to her anyways.

And speaking of the wand holster, since Charlie is around, I reckon now's a good time as any to—

"—do you think this is?"

Ron's attention returned to Harry in time for the other boy to raise a familiar shimmering cloak.

Oh, it's just the Invisibility Cloak. Ron blinked in the middle of opening his mouth to say just that when he remembered. Wait, back up!

Cue the surprised Ronald Weasley face. "Blimey, is that what I think it is?"

"What is it?"

"I'll tell you what that is! It's a bloody invisibility cloak! Merlin, I'd give anything for one of those! Anything!"

…This "acting stupid shocked over everything" act is starting to get really old really fast, for Merlin's sake!

The Great Hall was decorated with shimmering silver snowflakes and falling stars with holly and mistletoes tied to a good number of the pillars while the tables were spread with white napkins and tablecloths embroidered with green sprigs and red ribbons. The entire Weasley family and Harry, proudly dressed in their lovingly knitted Weasley sweaters, came to partake in the fancy Christmas feast laden with hundreds of turkeys with rich gravy, boiled and mashed potatoes, rows of grilled ribs, braised and crisp vegetables, trifles, treacle tarts, flaming Christmas pudding and all the wizarding crackers one can pop.

Other than sorely wishing he too could have some of that free-flowing butterbeer and fire whiskey like the adults instead of pumpkin juice, Ron had no qualms with the way festivities turned out. It had been good fun stuffing himself with all the food to match one of the turkeys on the table then joining his siblings in pulling on all the crackers he could get his hands on. He managed to get a dark grey hood that eerily reminded him of Death, some packs of Chocolate Frogs, glow-in-the-dark fake wands, cartwheeling gummy worms and a couple of party horns that seemed to have a sonorous charm permanently cast on them. Fred was quick to take them to pester the hell out of Percy while George charmed the Prefect's badge to grow legs and run off the table. But just when the twins were at the height of their laughter, Charlie transfigured their hairs into curly, ribboned pigtails that made Ron, Harry and Ginny shed tears in hysterical laughter.

Up at the staff table, Arthur, who had obviously had a bit too much fire whiskey, kissed Molly on the cheek before presenting her with a flowery top hat which she allowed him to put on her head, giggling like a teenager all the while. Dumbledore had just put on the bonnet he had gotten from Flitwick and was merrily laughing at the exchange between a drunk Hagrid and a flustered McGonagall. Meanwhile, at the edge of the table, Snape and Pince exchanged a quiet toast, and Durand was sipping champagne while talking to a Professor Ron never met before: tall, burly and dark-skinned with dreadlocks nearly reaching his shoulder. Ron hadn't seen Hui anywhere, so he assumed the lecturer went home for the holidays. He did mention having a wife, didn't he?

It was a bit of a bummer for Ron that he couldn't find the time to pull Charlie or Ginny aside like he wanted to, but since it was Christmas, he thought that maybe he'll just leave that matter for tomorrow. Bill and Charlie did say that they were staying until the end of Boxing Day so hopefully, Ron will have plenty of time left to talk to his brother.

Good thing too, because a few things came up that required Ron's attention at the moment. Right after lunch, Harry and Ron returned to their dorms intending to change into outdoor winter wear for another snowball fight with the twins, when they saw a parcel and a letter on Harry's bed. Harry looked equally confused and curious while opening his letter, but Ron already knew who sent it the minute he saw the way Harry's name was written on the envelope.

The time traveller was hard-pressed to hide his grin. "So who's it from, Harry?"

Harry blinked once, twice before meeting Ron's eyes with an openly floored look. "I—It's from him. Mr. Black. It's from Mr. Black!"

He eagerly showed Ron the parchment as both sat down on Harry's bed to read.

Dear Harry,

I suppose you have already heard the news, but I wanted to properly introduce myself to you. I am Sirius Black, an old friend of your parents, who was wrongfully accused of their murders. I've just been recently released by both the Ministry and St. Mungo's, and it's only now that I found the time to owl you.

I'm sorry it took me this long to finally reach out and I'm sorry for all those years I missed. I could blame it all on Pettigrew, but the truth is, I'm also partly at fault for what happened. I won't blame you for thinking the same, but I hope you'll give me a chance to explain everything to you. There's just so much I want to tell you, and so much I want to hear from you too. If you're anything like your parents, as I'm sure you are, you've definitely had your own share of adventures. I can't wait to hear all about them when I see you again.

I know it's short notice, but I was hoping I could meet you after Christmas at Hogwarts. I'm free from the 26th onwards. Owl me when is the best time. You can bring anyone with you if you want.

Happy holidays, pup. Looking forward to hearing from you soon.

Your godfather,

Sirius

"Godfather…" Harry's Lumos green eyes were back. "I...I really have a godfather."

Ron gave his best mate a few seconds of wonder before clapping him heartily on the back. "See, mate, what did I tell you? So, how does it feel to know you have a godfather?"

"...I'm not dreaming, am I? This isn't because I've had too much cake from last night, is it?"

Ron was, naturally, happy to help reassure his best friend.

"...Ouch! Ron! What was that for?!"

"Well, what do you know? Looks like you're not dreaming after all." Ron nodded sagely. "You're welcome, by the way."

"You didn't have to pinch me that hard!" Harry scowled at him while rubbing at the sore spot in his arm.

"Anyway, back to this, so when are you planning on meeting him?"

"Oh, err," Harry bit his lip. "Is it too soon if I say within the week? Maybe let the holidays pass first—"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Harry, he just said he's free starting tomorrow. If you really want to see him then, just tell him so. From what I just read, he's just as excited to meet you too."

Harry was silent for a full minute before nodding. "Right. Tomorrow. I'll tell him we can meet tomorrow...I need my quill!"

Ron watched in amusement as Harry fumbled around for a quill and parchment, too excited to pen his reply to sit still and write it properly. Oh, he definitely missed seeing this side of Harry, the eager, beaming ball of sunshine that became less apparent the older they grew, mostly because the world just loved to fuck the Boy-Who-Lived over so much.

"Ron?"

The eighteen-turned-eleven-year-old turned to Harry, who was looking at him oddly. "Yeah, mate?"

"...Thanks."

Ron tapped his chin. "No problem, mate. But what for?"

Harry ducked his head, scratching the back of it awkwardly. "For this. If it weren't for you, maybe no one would have ever found out about Pettigrew, and Mr. Black might not have had his name cleared. But he's free now, and I have a godfather, and it's thanks to you."

It was Ron's turn to turn away, his ears turning bright red. "You're giving me too much credit, Harry. But for what it's worth, I'm happy for you. Mr. Black sounds like a good bloke."

"Yeah, he does…" Harry frowned. "But I wonder what he meant that he was also at fault for what happened with my parents?"

"I guess you'll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out."

"Err, that's actually something else I wanted to talk to you about…"

And that's how I ended up agreeing to go meet Sirius and possibly Remus with Harry tomorrow. Ron thought with a sigh, his arms over his head, staring at the ceiling of his four-poster bed. Since his alarm charm hadn't gone off yet, Ron assumed that it was almost or a little past midnight. And because he couldn't sleep, the gangly boy decided to go over his plans tomorrow in an effort to pass the time.

He honestly thought that it would be better if he weren't in the meeting, but Harry insisted that Sirius would want to meet the student who helped clear his name who was actually Harry's best mate. The magic of a small world and all that.

Ron finally relented because Harry was so set on the idea, which the rest of Weasleys also thought was well and good when the two boys told them about it. Molly had offered to accompany Harry as well, which he politely declined, although he did say that if things went well, he would like to introduce the Weasleys to Sirius. The twins were especially keen on the idea, finding the "former Azkaban inmate" image of the man to be intriguing.

What I'd give to see the reaction of the twins when they find out that Sirius is Padfoot. Won't that be something? Ron snorted to himself. Anyway, what else do I have for tomorrow? Go with Harry to meet Sirius, ask Ginny about the Lovegoods, ask Charlie about my wand, review my homework for next year, maybe a few games of—

SNAP!

Ron nearly jumped off his bed when his curtains were quickly parted, revealing his white-faced but smiling best mate.

"Harry?" Ron began groggily. "What's going—? OI!"

With a whispered "no time to explain, you have to see this," over his shoulder, Harry dragged Ron from the bed so quickly that the redhead barely had time to grab his outer robe.

"Harry! Wait, Harry!" Ron squawked in confusion when the other boy draped a cloak over both of them. The invisibility cloak?! "Harry, mind explaining why we're rushing around, under the invisibility cloak far past curfew?!"

"Sorry, Ron, but I just...I had to get you to see." Harry said breathlessly while looking frantically around in his hurry. "I thought that maybe I could get to show you tomorrow, but we're meeting Mr. Black, and I already met your family…"

"What's that got to do with—?"

"Keep it down! We're almost there."

Almost where? Ron asked in his head but he didn't dare voice it out loud. Not when Harry was gripping his arm so tight it was starting to hurt. Not when the look in Harry's eyes was a worrying mix of excitement, disbelief and desperation.

It was...he had seen that look on his best mate before. Where had he seen it? When?

It felt like hours since they got down from the Gryffindor Tower, and since Ron didn't have time to put on his slippers, his feet were freezing against the stone-cold floors of the castle. But again, Ron didn't voice a complaint, because he was trying to remember just what Harry's strange behaviour was all about.

Judging by how Harry's looking around like he's searching and watching out for Filch, it's obvious he doesn't really remember the way to...wherever he wanted to go. And if it's something that he had to wake me up for—not that I was asleep to begin with—must be something really important. But what could it be? Come on, Ron, think. The time traveller's brows furrowed. Christmas. What else important happened back then during the first life? We found out that Flamel was involved with the stone, but didn't know who he was. Hermione went home for Christmas. Harry got the cloak. We still didn't find out anything about Flamel after the holidays. What else am I missing? Why can't I remember? Come on, stupid brain. Help me remember. My best friend is acting weird and it's your job to—

A familiar warmth came from his pocket, next to his wand, and for the first time, Ron welcomed the vision.

"You could have woken me up!"

"You can go tonight. I'm going back. Want to show you…"

"Are you all right? You look...odd."

FLASH!

The cold stone was hurting his feet. "—and I'm freezing, Harry! Let's just forget it and go back before—"

"NO! We can't. It's here. I know it's here somewhere!"

FLASH!

A huge golden mirror, lined with runes and a single sentence in English lettering.

"Look! Look at all of them! There are loads!"

"...No, I'm alone, but I'm different! I look older and—and I'm Head Boy!"

FLASH!

The sight of a despondent Harry sending a chill through his chest.

"I know what you're thinking, Harry. Don't go back tonight. That mirror is bad news. "

"...All right, all right. You're really starting to sound like Hermione."

"I'm serious, Harry! Don't go."

"We're here!"

Ron was startled out of his vision just in time to see it: the tall gold leafed mirror, its entire frame and glass faded by age, but the words etched on the old gold.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi

The Mirror of Erised. The same chill that entered Ron's chest in his vision returned with a vengeance. Shite. We shouldn't be anywhere near this thing. I need to get Harry out of here!

"Harry, we're not supposed to—"

"I know, I know. But look, Ron, there! See?" Harry tugged at Ron's sleeve, eagerly pointing. "Right over there! There's my family! My mum and dad! My grandparents, even! And..and..!"

"I don't see anything." Ron snapped, taking Harry by the arm. "Come on, Harry. Filch will skin us alive if he finds us!"

"You're just not standing close enough!" The next thing Ron knew, Harry had pushed him forward, bracing him so he was dead center at the mirror.

The Ron in the past had seen himself, alone, with a Head Boy badge and the Quidditch Cup, the best among his siblings, only because that Ron had been a selfish and shallow-minded boy who didn't know any better.

But the Ron now, what he saw drove him to his knees.

He was no longer alone, nor did he have the badge or the cup. Instead, he was surrounded by his family and friends. But not the ones with him for the past week, the ones who he laughed and played games with. The ones who thought he was this brilliant prodigy, who made his parents proud. The one who wasn't really him.

No, the ones in the mirror were the faces of the ones he had to leave behind, their faces older and battered by the war, Bill, with his scars and George, with only one ear. Harry and Hermione stood on either side of him, radiant and awe-inspiring despite the dirt and blood marring their bodies.

And him, Ron, tall, gangly and dirty, his matted hair sticking up like windswept fire, his exposed arms lined with the brain scars and peck marks.

It's them. It's me… Ron let out a choked noise from his spot on the ground, reaching out to the mirror. His hand brushed the glass the same way his older counterpart's hand did. Harry. Hermione. Mum. Dad…

A wave of grief and pain surged through him at the sight of them, the older version of his loved ones. The last few months, he could barely remember how they looked in the future, could barely make out the faces of his best friends or remember the taste of Hermione's lips. He hadn't thought of it at the time—perhaps he didn't really want to—but facing the mirror now, reflecting his deepest, darkest desire, the truth slapped him hard in the face.

I want to go home.

What was he doing here? Why was he even here? In this time, in this world, where no one knew who he really was? Where no one could understand the pain, the loss and the grief he had to go through to get here? Why couldn't he have gone back to the past in his world? Make things right with the people who knew him?

I want to go home.

Why can't he go back there, to them, to the ones who knew all his flaws, mistakes and weaknesses, and still let him stand by them?

Why can't I go back home? Ron wanted to cry out, both of his hands now on the mirror. Mum and Dad. His siblings. His friends. Harry. Hermione. Why were they all smiling at him when he was all the way over here and not with—?

"RON!"

He felt himself being lurched back, nearly falling flat on his face if not for the hands on his shoulders.

Wait, hands? Who—? The time traveller looked up to see the frantic face of… "H—Harry?"

The younger Harry made a shushing noise as he threw the cloak over both of them. "Someone's coming." The pair then waited under the cloak with bated breath as Mrs. Norris came walking in, turning her head once, twice, then looking over the spot where Harry and Ron were huddled under the cloak.

There was no sound, no movement outside the cloak for what felt like an eternity, before the old cat finally turned and left, and it was only moments later, when it looked like she wasn't coming back, that Harry pulled Ron to his feet.

"I don't know if invisibility cloaks work on cats, but I bet she heard us," said Harry. "We better go before she comes back with Filch."

Ron took a second to look back to the older Harry in the mirror, who inclined his head with a smile…

"Ron, come on!"

"...Sorry. Let's go."

The morning of the 26th, Ron was at the owlery. He didn't know how long he stayed there, looking over the snow blanketed grounds of the Forbidden Forest. It wasn't until Harry came in that he remembered he should have cared about the time.

"Shite, mate, is it time to go already?" Harry was due to meet Sirius after lunch today since the latter was supposed to go to some therapy all morning. Sirius said that he could reschedule it but Harry hastily insisted that the time was fine.

The other boy shook his head. "No, not yet. But it's almost lunchtime, though."

"Oh. Thanks."

"...Not coming down to eat?"

"Maybe later."

Harry frowned. "You're thinking about it, aren't you? The mirror?"

"...Aren't you?"

There was a beat before Harry took a seat across him. "I am, but I'm more worried about you."

Ron stared at him questioningly. Harry went on. "I told you I saw my family in the mirror, right? I...I met your family and they're amazing. So, when I saw them, I thought, I wanted you to see them. I didn't think it would turn out that way."

"It's not your fault, Harry."

"You didn't see how you were last night," continued Harry. "You looked like someone punched you in the gut. Whatever it was that you saw in the mirror, it was hurting you, and I barely snapped you out of it. And now you're still looking out of it all morning."

The older boy ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. "Sorry, Harry."

"...What did you see?"

Ron hesitated. On the one hand, he cannot explain the full situation to Harry, who already had enough on his plate without adding the complications of a time traveller's woes into it. He did not even know how to begin explaining if he could. But on the other hand, this was Harry, his best mate, who had always been honest to him and supported him no matter how much of a fool he ended up making himself into.

Before he could think about it some more, though, his mouth ran first. "I saw my family too."

It was obviously an answer Harry was not expecting. "Your family? But then why did you…?"

He didn't know what came over him at that moment. Maybe it was the sudden feeling of loneliness over the irony that, despite being surrounded by family and friends, deep down, he felt alone in this world. No one to tell his secrets to, or to turn to for help or guidance. He even had to bury his feelings because even if he tried to deal with them, he felt that he would end up drowning instead. And he had been fine for a while, but then that mirror had to show up.

And now his mouth was like a faucet with a loosened tap. "You're right, they're amazing, and I love them to death, Harry. I really do. But...it's hard, you know, when you're the sixth in your family, and it's like everyone's got something cool about them that makes them stand out. Bill's the charming Head Boy, Charlie's the cool dragon tamer and Quidditch captain, Percy's the smart Prefect who will make it big in the Ministry, the twins are the funny guys who can think outside the box, and Ginny's the loveable girl who Mum always wanted. And then there's me.

"I thought I was past this. I thought I was OK with not being seen, with being invisible. But then I saw them...I saw...what could have been: my family, really seeing me, knowing who I really am, saying it's OK to be me, that they lo..." Ron bit his lip. "I guess, I haven't really let go, huh? I'm, after all this time, I'm still that selfish little tosser…"

"You're not." Ron looked up at Harry sharply, who mussed up his hair in agitation. "Ron, you're...you're the furthest thing from selfish I know. You made friends with me, helped Neville and never gave up on Hermione even when she was being horrid to you. Or are you telling me that you only wanted to be my friend because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"What? No! That's—"

"You think wanting your family's attention is selfish? Then I think I've been selfish too, at some point." Harry chuckled bitterly. "I've always known that the Dursleys hate me. Would have gotten rid of me already if they could. But for a long time, I...I hoped. I wished that, maybe, someday...I don't need all those presents or the nice clothes or the food. Just to know what it's like...to be part of those family photos I always see in the living room, or at the picture books at school…"

The eighteen-turned-eleven-year old's eyes darkened mournfully. "Harry…"

"But then Hagrid came, and suddenly the world is bigger than Privet Drive for me! I have Hogwarts and the Wizarding World, and you're the first friend my age I've made here. You have no idea how long I've always wanted one, since Dudley made sure I won't be getting any."

Ron couldn't help his smirk. "Want me to march right at the Dursleys and turn your cousin into a pig for you once we're of age?"

"That would be wicked, won't it?" Harry laughed along with Ron before sobering into a slight smile. "I...I don't understand why you'd think that, but you're my best mate now, Ron. You'll never be invisible again. Not to me."

Harry's green eyes shone with such determination that for a second, Ron saw his old best friend in them. It made his heart clench with a painful kind of fondness, but also made him feel like a bit of weight was lifted from his shoulders. "...Thanks, Harry."

"Great." The dark-haired boy clapped on Ron's shoulder. "How about we join the others downstairs for lunch? I'm famished."

"Oi, that's my line, mate!" The red-haired wizard shook his head with a laugh as he set his feet back on the ground. "Hey, Harry?"

"What?"

"...Promise me you won't go back to the mirror again."

"...Ron…"

"I'm serious, Harry. That mirror, it's bad news. I think it makes you see things you really want, but you can never have. And...it's not good, for either of us. Your family is…"

"They're gone, I know—"

"Doesn't stop you from wanting them back, does it? I expect you won't, but you've got family here too," countered Ron. "You have us, the Weasleys, and Sirius, Mr. Black, I mean. We're real." Not illusions trapped in the other side of the mirror that will never be there for you the way we will be. "And we're not going to let some mirror or anything else take you without a fight. You're my best friend, Harry, and friends got each other's backs through the thick and thin and the bullshite in between. If I'm not invisible anymore, that means you're not alone either. So, I swear to Merlin, if you somehow get it into your head to do some noble arse stupidity, I'll either drag you kicking and screaming back home or dive right into it even if you don't want me to. You got that?"

An unreadable look crossed Harry's eyes before they softened. "All right, I promise not to if you won't either."

"Deal." The two boys shook on it before leaving the Owlery for the Great Hall, taking the scenic route past the greenhouses, which struck Ron as odd.

"Err, Harry, why didn't we stay in the castle to get to the Great Hall? Not that I don't appreciate the exercise, but aren't we in a bit of hurry?"

"No, we're not. It's just a little before half past eleven when I found you in the Owlery." Harry smiled. "Besides, you're not as invisible as you think you are."

"What's that supposed to—?"

"There you are!"

Ron's eyes widened when he saw Percy marching from the courtyard, the rest of his siblings following quickly behind. "Perce? Everyone? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong, he asks—" snorted Fred.

"As if he's not the one who went up and vanished after breakfast." George scoffed, ruffling Ron's hair.

"We went around the castle looking for you, but we couldn't find you anywhere." Ginny said with a slight pout. "We looked in the Tower, the classrooms, the pitch, and even in the library!"

Fred shuddered. "I don't think I'll be able to get over that for a while."

"Please," Percy rolled his eyes. "You didn't even get past the doorway, Fred."

"Where the bloody hell did you go anyway, you little rascal?" Charlie glowered, looking more angry than just worried. "It's a good thing we ran into Harry and he said he'd go get you, or we might have ended up combing the whole castle for you!"

Ron's ears reddened in guilt. "Sorry, Charlie, just went to the Owlery, needed a little time alone."

Charlie frowned even more at that answer, but before he could say anything, Bill's hand was on his shoulder.

"No harm done, Ron." Bill said after giving Charlie a firm glance. "Must be overwhelmed by how hectic the past few days have been, huh?"

At Ron's nod, grateful for his oldest brother's perpetual understanding, Bill smiled kindly. "It's all right, but remember letting at least someone know where you are."

"By someone, he meant one of us." Percy gestured at the other Weasley siblings.

"Wouldn't want you to disappear on us now, would we?" Bill finished with a gentle hand on Ron's head.

He knew it was meant to be a quip to lighten the mood, but it made Ron's eyes burn all over again and his robe's inner pocket warm.

I want to go home. Why can't I go back home?

"You'll never be invisible again. Not to me."

I want to go home.

"You're not as invisible as you think you are."

I want to...

"...I won't, Bill." Ron whispered. "I promise."

Back again, Ronald? Ron laughed quietly to himself, standing in front of the Mirror of Erised a couple of hours before dawn. Back again even after you and Harry promised each other not to come? Hypocrite of the highest order right there.

At first, he told himself that he was just making sure that Harry hadn't gone back to the mirror after all (never mind that he could have achieved the same by just checking Harry's bed). But when he saw it again, he was seized by a sudden need to see them again, one last time.

His parents. His siblings. His best friend. His first love.

It was just as hard as it had been before: seeing the faces and the tender smiles of the family he left behind in the first life, their eyes reflecting the longing in his own. No wonder the Mirror of Erised was such a dangerous object. Ron could see why wizards would choose to waste away in front of it, clinging onto the illusion of happiness rather than to face the reality where it may never be.

"I miss you," said Ron, taking in the sight of each of his loved ones' faces. "Every day I'm here, even when I don't want to, I always think of you, I always see you. And it hurts, because I know that I can never have you back. Hermione made me see it. Even if I have you all around me, it's...they'll never be you."

It said so before, this is not the world I left behind. The longer I stay here, the more I finally get it. My friends are different. My family is different. He stared at the older Ron's hand in the mirror, resting against his own. I'm different. Is that...bad?

He thought of his friends, of how Neville became part of his circle of close friends earlier, of how Hermione came to see him as an intellectual equal, of how he and Harry had somehow found a way to be even closer kindred spirits.

He thought of his family, of how proud his parents were of him now, of how Bill and Charlie were not so out of his reach like he previously thought, of how much he underestimated how good a brother Percy was, of how the twins were starting to actually respect him, and of how much of the time he wasted with Ginny he was getting back.

"You're not as invisible as you think you are."

And this...this is my world now…

With that, a heavy weight was lifted from his shoulders as he finally understood. What he wanted the most, was not to be with the ones at the other side of the mirror after all…

"I miss you, but I'm here now. This is where I belong. And while they aren't exactly the same as you, they are you. And I don't want to lose anyone again just because I can't accept that they're who they are. It's not fair, right? I mean, I'm a worthless bloke, but you still... " Ron took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "That's why this is the last time. This will be goodbye."

Goodbye to what could have been but will never be. Goodbye to the old life he had to leave behind.

Goodbye to a love that could have been so much more…

"I'm not as strong as you, Harry, or as smart as you, Hermione, but I'll try...I'll give it all I've got..." He rested his head against the glass with a sharp exhale. This time, I won't let anyone die, not without a fight. No matter what it takes. Even if it means that no one will ever be able to understand me. Even if no one will believe me or the truth.

Even if it's just this Ron—this smart, cool, fake Ron they think they know—at least...

"I love you. All of you. So fucking much." He grit his teeth. "Goodbye."

He didn't know how long he stood there, head bowed against the mirror, gathering his nerve, praying for the courage to look at the Mirror of Erised's sweet poisonous dream and walk away.

But when he looked up, he saw something different.

He saw his family, Harry and Hermione, but younger, their images sharper and clearer than the ones who lived through the war. He saw Neville, Cedric, Sue and a number of other familiar faces standing in front of him, all smiling at him with such fond empathy that it made his limbs weak.

"It's OK, Ron." The Harry in the mirror—who looked so much like the Harry who comforted him at the Owlery this morning—said kindly. "It's OK. You did a good job, mate."

"It must have been so hard," said the mirror Hermione. "That you had to do everything on your own. But we don't care how many lives you've had to live through. You've always been our Ron, and that's all that matters."

"We're proud of you, Ronnie." A tearful mirror Molly said with a big smile. "I'm sorry we never said it enough but it's true. Your father and I, all of us, you've always made us so proud. If I could choose in the next life, I would want to be your mother again."

Mirror Arthur nodded with a squeeze to his wife's shoulder. "Never forget, no matter who you think you are or what you have to do. We love you, Ronald Bilius Weasley."

"You are loved. Always have been. Always will be."

Ron's knees buckled in front of the mirror for the second time in this life, the tears he had been trying to suppress making their way out as the bloody thing turned his heart inside out again.

Fucking mirror. Just when I thought I was going to be all right! Just had to hit me where it hurts all over again!

"Ron?"

The poor boy let out a cry of fright when a hand gently squeezed his shoulder. Good thing he stopped himself from drawing his wand out when he saw who it was. "P—Professor Dumbledore?"

Albus Dumbledore smiled gently. "And here I thought Harry was the only one who will come back. It appears one should never be so quick to assume anything. Constant vigilance, as my old friend loved to say."

"How—how long have you been here?" Ron wiped his eyes hastily, the grief in his heart being steadily replaced by dread. He can't have heard me, can he? Shite, I made sure I was alone before I went up to the mirror! When did he come in?

"Not too long ago," was the cryptic answer that just made the time traveller's insides queasy. "I apologize for intruding in such a personal moment, but as your Professor, it is my duty to safeguard my students from any danger, within and without Hogwarts' walls." Dumbledore ran a hand on the mirror's golden frame. "This is one of the most subtle yet most potent of its kind."

"What is it?"

"The Mirror of Erised. It reflects the deepest, most profound desires of the one gazing upon it. However, it is only an illusion, but oh what a beautiful illusion it is!" Dumbledore sighed. "Nobody knows who made it or why. What is certain is that it has claimed many lives, for it is true that for many, no matter how wealthy or powerful they are, they will forever desire for something they can never have. Harry, for one, an orphan all his life, saw his family."

How did he—? Now I'm really nervous! "Have you been watching us?"

"I do not need a cloak to become invisible." Dumbledore smiled too innocently for Ron's liking.

"I...Professor, about that...I can explain..."

"There is nothing wrong with wanting to be loved, Ron."

The boy stiffened.

"Desires of all kinds have come to life in this mirror—power, wealth, glory, fame, even immortality—drawing out the true heart beneath the person who looks upon it. Love is a powerful force, magic beyond any explanation, but it is in each person, whether that force can be their salvation or their destruction, pure or twisted. The Ron I saw before, the want for love in your eyes, that is one of the purest things I have ever seen in my life. And I have lived past a hundred years."

Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles. "I will not pry on how you have come to believe that you have so little. It is not my place to judge such things. But I will say this: there are two kinds of people in this world that I feel most sorry for. Those who could never know love; and those longing for love, not knowing that they already are loved."

"I...I know my family loves me."

The wizened wizard's smile was almost sad. "Do you, truly?"

Ron said nothing.

"The mirror will be moved to its new home within the day, and I will ask you to not go looking for it, never. A dream, no matter how wonderful it is, is just that, a dream. You have too much ahead of you to lose yourself to an illusion."

The redhead stood up. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes?"

"Harry came back, didn't he?"

"A bit past midnight, if I recall correctly. The fascinating thing is," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "He came to do the exact same thing you did: to say goodbye to the family he'll never have, for the family that he already has."

Ron blinked owlishly. "Really?"

"You and your friends make for an interesting group: the Boy-Who-Lived, the brightest witch for her age, the diamond in the rough, and the force that binds them together. But what an enigmatic force you are. You are a very clever child, yet wise, so wise beyond your age. As if you are far older than what you really are."

Ron did his best to school his expression into honest confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"Ah, but we all have our secrets, do we not? Even well-meaning children such as yourself?" said Dumbledore. "I personally enjoy puzzles. Whenever I have the time, I love solving them while having tea. Did you know that muggles invented such interesting games? Why, for all my years and experience, I have still to put together that pure white puzzle Charity gave me two Christmases ago! A jigsaw puzzle, she said it was. But please don't tell her I have not finished it yet. A Headmaster has a reputation to keep.

"But it might need to stay unfinished for a while longer," Dumbledore eyed Ron appraisingly behind his half-moon spectacles, "since I have a far more interesting one to solve, I see."

Ron coughed uncomfortably. "Don't know why you'd think that, Professor. I mean...I'm not that binding force thing or anything special. I'm just...Ron."

The Headmaster chuckled. "That, my dear boy, is why you are all the more interesting."

Hah, that's a wrap. 😊

That was an eventful chapter, don't you think? And with this, we're halfway past first year. Hurray! If you've read other Ron-centric fics, some events and characterizations are references to them. Wonder if you guys can find them all. (Choices and Fate are already pretty much given. Anything else? Haha!)

UP NEXT: The Holidays may be over, but the adventure is just getting started. Bullies, Quidditch, secret meetings, and red herrings, oh my! But wait, what's this about noble houses?

And as promised, my lengthy reply to Guest:

Dear Guest,

First off, thank you for your polite words. As I have said time and again, TBA is not for everyone, even if you are a Ron lover. So if I lost you, then that's fine. But if you're still here, it's your turn to hear me out.

Perhaps Ron's change to a studious student is too sudden, but then again what he experienced is also out of the ordinary, even by wizarding standards. Change is not an easy process, but trauma and motivation can make people react in unexpected ways. If you had a way to save a loved one, wouldn't you do everything for them? If you were Ron, known for his loyalty and devotion to his loved ones, would you really half-ass your second chance, knowing that lives are at stake? I think my story so far is an answer enough to what I think about that.

Besides, it's not as if he loves studying all of a sudden. He is doing it out of necessity (both for his mission and to deal with PTSD), but with the nice side effect of him slowly coming to enjoy learning new things and the benefits they bring.

Second point: the Pettigrew problem. I don't understand what you mean by Pettigrew being a scapegoat (the one who takes the blame for something). If by that, you mean Voldemort's lapdog in ensuring his resurrection, does it really have to be Pettigrew? Or how do you know that it won't be him in the first place? You're not taking into account that there are other ways to get to a destination. That includes preparing Harry for his eventual role in Voldemort's end. Another thing, Pettigrew's reveal and capture, down to Sirius' name being cleared WILL have consequences. It looks "hunky dory" only because the long term effects haven't caught up with Ron yet. Don't let early successes lull you into thinking that it will be smooth sailing all throughout. It's too early for you to say that.

Third, again, how sure are you that dementors won't be a thing to worry about later on? And is learning the Patronus charm the only way for Harry to bond with Remus? Is there only one way to skin a cat? I find that you're too fixated on what happened in canon to consider other possibilities. I said this before, I don't want to rehash what happened in the books. If I did that, you're better off rereading the HP series.

As for Harry's guardianship, is Dumbledore really the one who gets the final say about this? Because I'm pretty sure that that's not how the law works, and Dumbledore is only a Supreme Mugwump, not Supreme Dictator. But I will admit that the old man will try to pull what strings he can if he has to. Then again, who said that Sirius will get custody of Harry so easily in the first place?

And how does saving Sirius take away from Harry's journey, even? You lost me on this one, to be honest.

I agree, the string of conveniences leading to Pettigrew's reveal is a little too suspicious. And if you reached chapter 14, you would have read on how Haywood picked up on that. And since you are limited to Ron's POV most of the time, how sure are you that someone else doesn't think that something is amiss about that already?

Next point, I understand that Dumbledore's manipulations are a necessary evil to prepare Harry in the future. But you forget that Ron, because of his bias, does not fully understand this yet. His choices and changes are actually driven by his feelings and his still rather black-and-white views on Dumbledore's actions, and in a way, it makes him miss the board for the pieces (ironically enough). So me taking away what you think Harry needs to become a proper Chosen One? That's one of the consequences of Ron's actions driven by his simplistic ideals and yes, Harry as a character will be affected by it. That's why time travel is a very dangerous business.

The reason I switched the roles around was because of the addition of Neville as well as the changes in Ron since the Ron who went back in time is a more confident and mature one. It's a natural reaction for Harry to unconsciously follow Ron's lead for now, but that won't be that way forever. Just like Neville did not remain the clumsy, bumbling boy he was in first year. Because, you know, character development exists.

And Ron getting the saving people thing like Harry's? He went back in time for that very purpose. Kind of hard not to develop some sort of hero complex when that happens, don't you think?

I know that there are a number of things that Harry needs to do (but I do think that really just boils down to getting rid of the Horcruxes, including the one inside him; and passing on the protection of love to everyone). However, this is ultimately Ron's story. He may not be the Chosen One but he is the major protagonist and he will be a key player in the future. Because the war isn't just about Harry and Voldemort.

Lastly, I'm sure I always write eighteen-turned-eleven-year-old whenever I use that term. But I'll go back and recheck, as most of the chapters are unbeta-ed. I apologize for the bad reading experience that caused and I will strive to do better in the future.

If after all those explanations you still don't agree with me, I can't do anything about that. Part of the storytelling experience is trusting that the writer knows what they are doing with their work. If you really can't agree with the direction I am taking the characters, I regret that TBA will not be for you. It's sad that I will lose an insightful reader but it can't be helped. Thank you for the time you did spend with TBA and giving it a chance.

Happy New Year!

Chuchi

PS: If you're going to critique someone's work, the least you could do is to leave a name to call you by. :)

Chapter Text

Yes, I'm still alive!

A belated Happy Easter gift for you, lovely readers. Big, big thank you again to acnelli for their beta reader work. Excellent stuff, as usual. 😊

Chapter Thirteen:

On Flamel and Noble Houses

I am so fucking screwed.

Ron face palmed himself for the nth time that morning, curled up in one of the squishy armchairs by the fireplace, Second Chance laid open in his lap. This is just stupid. I can't do shite because I can't concentrate! Why am I doing this to myself at bloody six in the morning anyway? And during the holidays?

...Because I can't sleep thanks to a nosy old codger. Ron blew at his bangs in irritation. Argh!

Try as he might, he couldn't get another wink of sleep last night—early this morning—after his latest run-in with Dumbledore. Bloody hell, just when he thought he was past his first major hurdle, another one shoves its way in before he could take a breather.

And to think the rest of yesterday went so well too. After lunch, Professor McGonagall led Harry and Ron into an empty classroom where Sirius and Remus were waiting for them. Magic was really a splendid thing, Ron thought at the time, when he saw how much better Sirius looked since he last saw him at the trial. He was still a bit too thin, but at least his face was a little less gaunt. He was clean shaven, and his grizzly black hair was now properly combed past his inner shirt collar, the dark circles under his grey eyes barely noticeable.

When Sirius saw Harry, the man immediately brightened, walking to them in what Ron swore took two strides to shake the surprised boy's hand. Sirius had also been exuberant in talking to Ron, pleasantly surprised to find that the boy who led to his name being cleared was also his godson's best friend.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, just...thank you!" said Sirius. "I don't have the words to express how grateful I am!"

"Err, no problem, Mr. Black. Glad to help you and Harry."

"Just Sirius, Ron. Mr. Black makes me think of my father, and I'd rather not be reminded of him." Sirius' grey eyes softened. "But seriously, thank you. If I had to live in that dump for one more year, knowing that that rat is still out there, not being able to see Harry…" He cleared his throat. "Really, Ron, I mean it. I owe you everything." And nothing Ron said convinced Sirius otherwise.

Remus, on the other hand, was more composed, though no less visibly delighted to be introduced to the two boys. He was amiable as Ron remembered him, letting Sirius play the excited, doting godfather Ron suspected he always wanted to be while subtly drawing the line when it looked like Harry was going to be overwhelmed by the attention.

("I apologize for this man child, Harry, Ron." Remus smiled lightly over Sirius' petulant scowl after being reprimanded for being overwhelmingly energetic. "Sirius never truly learned to act his age.")

Which, Ron observed, became less often the longer Harry was around the two wizards.

The start was a bit somber at first. Harry, struggling to find his footing among his company, quietly asked what Sirius meant when he said he was partly at fault for what happened to his parents. Sirius had been rather forthcoming about it (considering that Ron was present for the conversation), saying that he had been the one who suggested the Secret Keeper switch after explaining the Fidelus charm's effects to Harry, which was what enabled Pettigrew to lead Voldemort to the Potters.

Just when Sirius looked like he was going to drag himself into a self-depreciating slump, Harry stood up and exclaimed, "That's rubbish! If Pettigrew hadn't turned out to be a traitor, your plan would have been brilliant! You were risking your life for my Mum and Dad! If anything, you're a bloody hero!"

The other three had been so surprised by the outburst that the boy slumped back to his seat, his face red as a tomato, but that broke whatever ice was left among them. Time flew so fast as Sirius and Remus told Harry so many stories of the Potters and the Marauders during their school years.

("Six years, Harry! Your father had been chasing your mother for six years! Now that's dedication. If it were me, I would have just given up and moved to the next girl as early as second year!" said Sirius, which made Remus snort. "Of course he would. Your godfather's list of ex-girlfriends is longer than all the essays we had to write for Professor McGonagall put together.")

Harry looked like he was having so much fun with the two men that by the time the visit was almost over, his shoulders visibly slumped until Sirius promised to see him again before New Year's. Ron had never seen Harry go from kicked to eager puppy so fast in all his years of knowing him.

Needless to say, Harry's first meeting with his godfather and surrogate uncle was a resounding success, which was great and exactly how Ron wanted the holidays to end. Now he could worry about the next big thing on his first year shenanigans list.

But then Dumbledore just had to complicate things, make me more stressed out than I already am. Ron massaged his temples in an effort to get rid of the ensuing migraine before resting his head on the back of the armchair. I just had to go back to that stupid mirror and get myself caught. Then again, knowing Dumbledore, he must have warded that room so that he'll know if someone went in or not. Can't imagine him staying all night in that place. Wonder how he did that.

Anyway, he flipped through his Second Chance notes again. Back to topic. What did we accomplish so far, Ron? Made friends with Hermione and Neville; joined a couple of Study Clubs; kicked a troll's arse; helped save Harry from falling off his broom during the first Quidditch match; helped send Pettigrew to Azkaban and set Sirius free. And no one got seriously hurt after all that. Great. So far, so good. Now what's next?

After crossing off all the accomplished bullets of the First Year Events list, Ron was left with just a few more: Flamel, Norberta and Quirrel. Back when he made this list, he was pretty confident that he hadn't left anything out. Now, after realizing that he had forgotten several minor but still important events (like that bloody mirror), Ron was starting to think that he shouldn't be so complacent about the thoroughness of his future knowledge.

Is that why It gave me this? Ron fished out the Deluminator from his pocket. Now that he thought about it, why hadn't he tried to flick its switch before, just to see if it works just like Dumbledore's? He had been carrying around the technical Hallow like a security blanket, yet, he never thought of seeing what it could do?

Looks like I have something new to add to my list before the year is over. If I can manage it. Ron thought. All I know is that this thing is connected to the visions I'd get every now and then, but most of them don't make sense. Some look like my memories, but others, like those of Bill and Charlie and the one with Luna and her mum, I don't remember any of them happening…

He filed the thought away for later reference after writing down Check the Deluminator on his To-Do page. So now that I got the rat out of the way, the next big thing that will happen is that match where Snape referees, then Harry and the others find out about Flamel. Or wait, did finding out about Flamel happen before the match? He grunted. I'll just see what I can do. Nothing big or dangerous happened back then anyway, except for Harry becoming more suspicious of Snape. Just have to keep my head down low and not catch anymore of Dumbledore's attention, at least until that dragon comes along.

Hope Charlie will still be able to help us out when the time comes. I don't know how else we can get Norberta out of here without him. Oh, and I have to make sure we won't forget the cloak. That's why Harry and Hermoine got caught last time and got that stupid detention in the forest. And I also need to make sure I don't get my hand bitten by Norberta either! Bloody hell, why do I have to remember so many things?! Why did we have to get into so much shite in our first year in the first place?! We were only firsties! What were we thinking?!

After a few more seconds of bemoaning his eventful first year, Ron finally managed to get his plan back to somewhat working order: gently nudge his friends into the right direction regarding Nicholas Flamel; convince them to join the study clubs while they're at it; get Norberta out of Hogwarts while avoiding detention and being bitten by the ungrateful oversized lizard; find a way to learn Occlumency; learn more about his Deluminator; figure out how to work his way around his wand acting like a stubborn tot (or get that new wand from Hui, whichever comes first); and help Harry get safely past the dangerous obstacle course underneath the school to stop Quirrel from getting the stone.

Oh, and not to screw up with his subjects, his study clubs, and pretend to be a normal wide-eyed first year all the while.

No pressure.

I don't remember being this exhausted after my first year. Then again, I didn't really pay much attention to anything either. Ron sighed. Welp. This plan is better than no plan, I guess. One item at a time. First order of business being—

"Ron? Why are you up so bloody early?"

And there he is. Ron discreetly tucked his Deluminator away and shut Second Chance to face Bill and Charlie coming down from the boys dorm. Today was their last day in Hogwart and they were due to leave after breakfast. While Bill looked prepped and ready to go, Charlie looked like he was going to keel over at the sight of a pillow despite already donning his travelling gear.

"Morning to you too, Charlie, Bill. Nothing much, I'm usually up around this time anyway."

"You are?" The oldest Weasley said bemusedly while the second oldest raised a brow. "Since when?"

"Since summer before first year," answered Ron. "You lot off to breakfast?"

Bill nodded. "Err, yeah. Thought we'd get an early breakfast in before we have to leave for Portkey Central. Wouldn't want to leave without our coffee, eh, Charlie?"

"Bugger off, Bill." Charlie growled with a hard rub on his eyes. "Why did you have to get us passes for a seven Merlin-forsaken AM trip anyway?"

"Odd. I thought dragon tamer hours are much earlier than curse breaker ones."

"Fuck off, 'm not—"

"Charlie!" Bill cut his younger brother off with a shove before smiling sheepishly at Ron. "Sorry, Ronnie. Charlie really needs some of that coffee now. Want to come with us?"

"Sure, but—" Ron stood up. "Wait! Charlie!"

Charlie poked his head out of the portrait hole, already halfway out. "What?"

"Since you're already here," Taking his brother's old wand out of his robe pocket, Ron did the best puppy dog eyes he knew he was capable of. "I was hoping you could do me a favor…"

Barely a day after Bill and Charlie left, Arthur, Molly and Ginny also had to leave Hogwarts as the holiday season was almost over.

Ginny had been especially sad about it, having fallen in love with Hogwarts since the first day she came there, but their parents assured her that it won't be long before she too will be staying all year round in the school with her brothers. It was with some laughter, hugs and even a bit of tears that Ron, his brothers and Harry bid the three Weasleys goodbye with promises to write more and stern warnings to stay out of trouble, courtesy of Molly. Percy had proudly puffed his chest while declaring that she can leave it to him to keep his brothers in line, leaving Ron torn between rolling his eyes and looking away guiltily.

Hermione and Neville came back within the first week of January, and the four quickly filled each other in on what happened during Christmas break. Harry had been especially eager to share about Sirius and Remus, who he had already met up with twice so far since their first meeting. On their second visit, the two wizards were introduced to the Weasleys, save for Bill and Charlie, who had left hours prior, and had hit off with the family pretty well. Percy had been quite taken by the mild-mannered intellectual Remus, who was patient in answering the boy's eager questions about electives, NEWTs and other scholarly things. The twins, on the other hand, were more inclined to learn more about Sirius, especially when they found that the man was suspiciously knowledgeable about spells and tricks which were mighty useful for pranks.

Ron fervently wished he'll be around again when Sirius and Remus would reveal the truth to Fred and George. It was one of the handful of times he had ever seen the twins look so similar to gasping fishes on land.

While Hermione and Neville were happy for Harry, their moods dipped when they heard about the Mirror of Erised debacle. Hermione was shocked that Harry and Ron dared to sneak around during curfew hours and encountered such a dangerous object, but also disappointed that they hadn't found out anything about Flamel. Neville, on the other hand, was more relieved that they weren't caught by Filch and pretty relaxed about Harry and Ron not being able to do research about Flamel, as he hadn't had the time or the focus to do the same either.

But then all too soon, classes started again, as well as club meetings and Quidditch practice. It was still a mystery to him how he did it, but Ron managed to finish all of his holiday homework, including those for his study clubs, which had been downright nightmares on their own. Especially, Arithmancy. He wouldn't have gotten that Acceptable in his charts if it hadn't been for Sue correcting most of his work, something Ron knew he needed to work on.

On the bright side, Ron finally managed to convince Hermione and Neville to give the Study Clubs a try.

Hermione was easier to convince with the promise of learning more about new branches of magic, despite her own concern over being around other non-Gryffindor students, and decided to try the Arithmancy Club, both because Ron would be there and because it was similar to one of her favorite Muggle subjects, Maths. Fortunately, the class received Hermione warmly.

"Oh, hello!, Hermione! Is it OK if I call you Hermione? I'm Sue, Sue Li from Ravenclaw." Sue shook the other girl's hand eagerly. "Ron's told us much about you! Says you're the brightest witch of our generation, did you know?"

Hermione's face burned bright red. "Oh, I—thank you, but I—I think that's a bit of an exaggeration. I just like learning as much as I can. It's very nice to meet you too, Sue."

"A girl after my own heart," Penelope smiled brightly. "You would have fit right in here with us Ravenclaws, but I trust there's a reason why you're more of a lion than an eagle."

"Thank you, uhm, Penelope, right?"

Penelope made an exaggerated bow. "Ravenclaw prefect at your service!"

Ron elbowed Hermione lightly. "Way different from Percy, eh?" That got a laugh from Hermione before Sue drew her into an energetic exchange about numbers, diagrams and arrays that he honestly could not follow past the first ten seconds.

Nevertheless, it made Ron happy to see Hermione making friends outside the comfort zone of their House, and a friend who is on her level intellectually. Maybe with Sue's and Penelope's influence, she'll learn to be more personable. Still, more or less, Hermione's first week with the club went as well as Ron hoped it would.

Neville's experience, on the other hand, was a bit of a surprise.

Encouraged by the prospect of getting more help for Potions, Neville decided to try out the club for the subject. Not wanting to leave his friend any more confused and overwhelmed, Ron agreed to accompany him after asking Cedric for help. The Potions Study Club meetings were held in one of the dungeons further east of the castle, where the sound of rushing lake water was louder and the air was colder than usual. Good thing Cedric advised the boys in advance to wear thicker coats and gloves.

The lecturer for the Potions Study Club was Professor Ibis Imhotep, the dark skinned Professor Ron saw with Durand during the Holiday feast. Up close, the man was quite intimidating, with broad shoulders, arms that looked like they could snap Ron's back like a twig, a big, square nose with naturally flared nostrils, and round, deep-set eyes as brown as chocolate rum balls. But unlike Snape, Imhotep was far more amicable than his appearance would suggest.

"Well met, Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Weasley." Imhotep said with a slight bow, a large hand to his chest. "Welcome to the Potions study club. Since you have both joined at the middle of the year, you might find yourself behind your peers. But with hard work and commitment, I cannot see why you will not be able to catch up. Should you have any questions or need further assistance, feel free to approach me or our club representative, Ms. Farley."

"I...I hope so, Sir." Neville said glumly. "I'm not, err, I'm pants at Potions."

"That is why you are here, is it not, Mr. Longbottom? Mayhap your, ah, underperformance in class can be attributed to your current inability to tap into your potential. I heard that you are quite the star pupil in Professor Sprout's class, and Herbology, while underappreciated, is in fact as complex a study as Potions, to which it is closely intertwined."

Neville blushed with a squeak.

"You will not be the first student to have difficulty with the subject due to…teaching concerns." To Ron's and Neville's further surprise, he actually winked. "But I am here to help students appreciate that Potions can actually be an enjoyable subject. Rather off topic, but do any of you cook?"

"A little bit," shrugged Ron while Neville nodded. "I learned it from my Gran and our House Elves since I was a tot. I…" The chubby boy's eyes turned wistful. "Gran always said that Dad was a Merlin in the kitchen."

Now this was something new. Neville brought them homemade snacks a few times in the old life (even just brought his friends a delectable Shepherd pie from home after the holidays), but the boy never mentioned that he might have been the one who made them, let alone the fact that he could actually cook.

Huh. You do learn something new everyday.

Imhotep's smile broadened. "Then you will be able to do better than you think."

Imhotep may be just as meticulous as McGonagall and knowledgeable as Snape in the subject, but the key difference was his energy. For today's session, which was about the Forgetfulness Potion, he went into detail regarding not just the rationale behind the stirring and wand waving techniques, but also in the properties of the ingredients that contribute to the potion's desired effect.

Ron initially joined the club with the plan to leave when Neville was comfortable enough to go on his own, but the way Imhotep was handling the club was making the idea to stay more appealing. There was also the fact that he actually knew more students in the club than he initially thought.

"Greengrass?" Ron's brows rose to his hairline when he saw the blonde Slytherin in the club. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be the one asking you that," answered Greengrass, her stare mirroring his disbelief. "I have been a member of this club since the beginning of the year."

"Neville here," Ron clapped a hand onto Neville's shoulder. "Thought of giving the Potions study club a try, see if it could help him with our class. I just came along for the ride."

Greengrass gave the wary Neville a once over before shrugging. "I see. You'll have your work cut out for you since you both came in late, Heir Longbottom. Professor Imhotep expects as much from the club members as Professor Snape does from us."

At those words, Neville straightened. "I...I am aware, Heiress Greengrass. Thank you for your advice. I wan...I intend to do my best in this club as well as my class."

It took Ron a couple of seconds to understand the change in tone of the conversation. Shite, you have got to be kidding me! Who asked the Noble House business to follow me all the way back to Hogwarts? Like hell I'm letting it!

"Well, since you're here with us too, might as well have us ickle firsties stick together, right?" Ron held a thumbs up. "Mind helping bring us up to speed, Greengrass? We could use all the help we can get."

Greengrass' brows twitched. "Yes, I do mind. Why should I help you?"

"Because we're Potions class partners?" Ron offered.

"Try harder."

"Err, because you're a real nice person deep inside that ice princess image you have going on?"

"I'm this close to throwing these frog spawns at you, you insufferable smart arse."

Ron hummed thoughtfully before shrugging. "Because you like me, even though I'm an insufferable smart arse?"

Needless to say, Ron did end up getting frog spawns to the face, much to that traitor Neville's amusement.

That being said, Ron felt that it was worth it. He and Neville had acclimated to the study clubs better than Ron had anticipated.

It was encouraging to see the reserved Neville nod enthusiastically while Imhotep would discuss the plants involved ("Valerians' use in Herbology dates back to the 1500s, where records showed it being prescribed to remedy sleeplessness and mood disorders. That is why it is important to not add too many of its sprigs, or increase its potency in our potion." ) followed by a bright eyed stare when Imhotep would explain preparation and stirring techniques next. ("3 times clockwise evens the distribution of not only the Lethe River Water and the Valerian sprigs but also of the magic you will be imbuing your mixture with. As those studying Arithmancy will know, the number 7 may be the most magically powerful, but the number 3 is the most magically balanced.")

And, in the end, Greengrass gave them an outline of the club's activities so far and even allowed them to copy some of her notes in exchange for Ron doing most of the "dirty work" for their Potions class for the rest of the month, which Ron considered a pretty fair exchange. Her notes were so detailed and informative Ron wouldn't be surprised if she was planning to write her own Potions book someday (which she should, if his opinion counted for anything)

Overall, Ron considered the whole Hermione and Neville joining the study clubs affair to be a success. A bit of levity he was grateful for when the next expected curveball came rolling their way.

It was a slow evening in the Tower, with only about ten students lounging in the Common Room when Harry came marching in from Quidditch practice looking like Fluffy was at his heels. At the time, Ron and Hermione were playing chess by the fireplace with Dean, Parvati and Lee for their audience. Neville, on the other hand, had gone to send an owl to his Gran.

Lee craned his neck to look around before asking, "Fred and George not with you?"

Harry shrugged. "Said something about needing something to eat after today."

The older teen rolled his eyes. "Figured those wankers would do that and forget to drag me along. But enough about them. What's with you?"

Hermione frowned in concern at Harry's disturbed grimace. "Is everything all right?"

Harry swept his eyes around the Common Room before lowering his voice a tad. "It's about the next match. Snape's going to be the referee."

A lot of good that did, however, with the way everyone except Ron reacted. "WHAT?!"

Still, the redhead had a part to play. "Bloody hell, is he serious? Since when has anyone other than Hooch been the referee?"

"Since never!" Lee said heatedly. "Not just because it'll eliminate the risk for bias, but because Hooch is the only one among the staff trained and qualified to be a Quidditch referee by the Department of Magical Games and Sports! Not to mention she actually played for the Holyhead Harpies before becoming referee so she really knows how the game is played. What is Snape up to?"

At the first years' questioning looks, Lee puffed his chest. "I love Quidditch, in case you couldn't tell yet."

"Still," said Hermione turning to Harry. "If Snape's really going to be the referee, you have to tell Wood you can't play."

Lee raised a brow. "Why shouldn't he be able to play because of the giant bat?"

"Oh, uhm, because Snape loves to single out Harry in class." Hermione reasoned quickly. "I wouldn't put it past him to use Harry as an excuse to hand out unfair penalties in Slytherin's favor."

"Say you have a broken leg." Dean suggested.

"Really break your leg." Parvati added, then raised a brow at Dean's horrified look. "What? They're easy to fix! Unless you have to regrow them." She made a face. "Ugh. Nasty business, that one! Like your arm was suddenly stuffed by hot pins and needles trying to poke their way out of your skin!"

"You had to regrow a bone?" Asked Harry, looking troubled at the thought.

Parvati waved a hand. "Accidental magic. Don't mention it around Padma. She still gets really upset about it."

"Anyway, I can't skip this match," Harry went on, his tone resigned. "There's no reserve seeker, and Oliver will skin me alive if I don't play."

"Oliver won't do that…" Lee paused before clearing his throat, "Hopefully. But you have a point. If you pull out, the Gryffindor team won't have a seeker and they'll be forced to forfeit."

Hermione's eyes flashed. "Is a game really that more important than—"

But then the portrait hole opened, and in hopped Neville, panting and sweaty with his legs awkwardly bound together by the Leg Locker Curse. He tried to make his way to their group, but a missed hop caused him to fall flat to the floor.

Ron's eyes widened. Right. This happened.

It took a second before the majority of the occupants of the Common Room burst into laughter, including Dean and Parvati. It made Ron's gut queasy with disgust, especially when he saw the pained look in Neville's eyes.

"Neville!" Harry exclaimed, running over to the fallen boy while Hermione whipped out her wand to cast the counter curse.

"SHUT IT, ALL OF YOU!" Ron snarled. "Before I shove that curse right up your stupid arses!"

One of the older Gryffindors' grins dropped into a glare. "Who died and made you Merlin, Weasley?"

"He said shut it, Towler," Lee growled, "And there's nothing funny about this! Neville could barely move right!"

"Bit rich coming from you, Jordan," said Towler coldly, "Pranks and shite are only funny if they're coming from you or the Weasley twins, eh?"

"Why you—!"

"I'm OK." Neville panted with a hand in the air. "I'm OK. Sorry for the trouble, but I'm OK."

Dean, who now looked rightly ashamed for his initial reaction, went to help Neville to the couch. At that, the crowd in the Common Room shrugged the whole event off as if it were nothing and went back to their own business.

"Sorry about that, mate," said Dean.

"Sorry, Neville." Parvati seconded weakly, looking just as guilty.

Neville shook his head and smiled. "It's OK. If the circumstances were different, I'd be laughing with you too."

Harry frowned. "What happened, Nev?"

"Malfoy. Ran into him at the hall near the library. Wanted to practice that curse on me or something like that."

"You should have gone to a teacher!" Hermione exclaimed.

"What good will that do?" Neville said sadly. "Snape will make it my fault somehow, and then Malfoy will just get back at me. I don't want to cause any more trouble!"

Ron exhaled noisily at that. He knew Neville still had confidence issues around this time, but he had hoped that by being included earlier, the boy would lose them sooner this time around.

"You ought to stand up to him, Neville!" Parvati said strongly. "Those bullies will just keep tormenting you until you do. You can't let him keep getting away with doing this to you! Trust me, I'd know. Padma and I get it a lot because our parents are not originally from Britain."

"Or for not being a pureblood," Dean added, "But you're a Gryffindor, Neville! And you're worth more than ten of that snake!"

Lee frowned thoughtfully. "Shite, we all know the lions and the snakes have bad blood between them, but to think firsties would actually do this to one another…" He nodded. "I'll have to bring this up to a few people sometime. Can't have you lot worrying about getting hexed out of nowhere, can we?"

Harry fished out a Chocolate Frog pack from his pocket and handed it to Neville. "We have your back, Nev. Like what Dean said, you're worth more than what Malfoy will ever be."

"...Am I?"

"Sure you are!" Ron said confidently. "Malfoy and his dumb and dumber babysitters got nothing on you. One way or another, we'll rub that onto their sorry mugs!"

Neville let out a watery laugh after a bite into his frog candy. "Thanks, mates."

"Oi, what are you lot doing over there?"

The group looked up to see Fred, George, Angelina and Alicia stepping out of the portrait hole, with Fred's arms full of colorful bags and wrapped sandwiches.

Harry blinked. "Where's Oliver?"

Fred shook his head. "Still flying over the pitch—"

"Practicing like a mad man—"

"As if he's not a bloody red whirlwind of a Keeper already—"

"Gotta hand it to him. He's committed, that one." George pulled out a bag from Fred's stash. "Sweets, anyone?"

Angelina noticed Neville's slightly dishevelled state and frowned. "Are you OK, Longbottom?" To which the boy nodded quickly. "Fine, thanks." The twins however sent questioning looks to Ron and Lee, with the latter mouthing "Later," at them in response.

"Hey, since we're all here," Fred plopped on the floor in front of Harry and Neville. "I say we ought to have an impromptu tea time!"

"Without the tea, Forge? Blasphemous!"

Alicia shrugged. "Why not? We all need the little pick-me-up anyway, before that match with Snape as the referee."

Neville's eyes bugged out of his head. "SNAPE'S GOING TO WHAT?!"

The previous incident off everyone's minds for the moment, Ron and the others helped themselves to the snacks the twins brought (most likely taken from the kitchen). Neville had been more affected by the idea of Snape being the referee than Ron remembered, and his worries had not lessened in the slightest long after it was just him, Harry, Hermione and Ron left in the Common Room.

"If Snape will try anything during the match, I'm sure Professor Dumbledore and the other staff won't just let him." Harry reassured Neville.

"And besides, didn't we already agree that it may not be Snape who wants to kill Harry?" pressed Ron. "For all we know, he could be doing this to try to stop whoever it is."

Neville sighed. "I just can't help but be worried anyway. We got lucky with the jinx during the first match. What happens if the next attempt will be something we can't stop?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I could try reading all the possible jinxes and curses you could use to make it look like you were killed by accident, but that could take days! And the match is within the week! Not to mention our research on whoever this Flamel character is!"

Harry's eyes hardened. "Well, I'm not letting Snape or whoever it is get in the way of us getting the House and Quidditch Cup this year! And I'm not going to give the Slytherins—especially Malfoy—the chance to say that I backed out of the match because I'm scared of Snape!"

Neville and Hermione traded looks before the former raised his hands in surrender. "Just don't do anything reckless and keep an eye out for anything suspicious. The last thing we want is to have to wipe you off the field.

"Anyway," Neville held up several cards in his hand. "I don't know where the twins got all those sweets, but now I have too many Chocolate Frog cards on me. You lot collect them, right? Maybe there's something new in here for you."

Ron's eyes brightened in recollection of this particular moment. "Hey, Harry, got anything there that you can trade in with me?"

"Doubt it. I only have about ten cards." Harry looked through the cards. "Let me see: one Professor Dippet, Bertie Bott, Wendelin the Weird, a couple of Merlins, Herpo the Foul, Celestina Warbeck—great, I have three of her already!—Newt Scamander…" He raised a particular one aloft. "And Professor Dumbledore! This is the first card I ever—"

Ron watched as realization dawned in Harry's eyes before flipping Dumbledore's card to read the back. "That's it! I found him!" Harry declared with renewed excitement. "I found Nicolas Flamel!"

The days counting down to the upcoming match were filled with as much restless energy as the time before the last one. While Ron's friends were worried about Snape's sudden decision to be Quidditch referee and how it could affect the match, they were also just as excited about discovering who Flamel was and the existence of the Philosopher's Stone.

"The Philosopher's Stone is a legendary substance with astonishing powers, able to transform any metal into pure gold," Hermoine read from that absurdly large book she said she borrowed from the library for a bit of 'light reading", "It also produces the fabled Elixir of Life, which is said to make its drinker immortal."

"Immortal?" Neville repeated. "As in the 'cannot be killed by anything' sort of immortal?"

"And able to live for years on end as long as you continue consuming the Elixir," Hermione elaborated, "Look at how old the Flamels are! They're both past six hundred years old! An average wizard's lifespan is around a hundred and twenty years, with the oldest known wizard other than the Flamels and Barry Winkle—who some suspect have his own Philosopher's Stone—is 355!"

"I bet that's what was in that vault in Gringotts." Harry said excitedly. "No wonder Snape wants it! Anyone would!"

Now that that mystery was solved, the group's plan shifted to how to stop Snape from getting the Stone.

"If Professor Dumbledore transferred the Stone from Gringotts, he'll definitely have some protections in place for it." Hermione said. "I doubt that the Stone would still be here if he hadn't."

"What sort of protections would be in place, you reckon?" said Neville. "Maybe the Professors are in on it? I mean, Professor Dumbledore's powerful, but it won't hurt to have extra help."

"Maybe Hagrid would know more about it," suggested Ron, "It's because of him we found out about Flamel in the first place."

Harry nodded. "We ought to bring it up the next time we see him. But if what Neville says is true, you reckon Snape's one of the Professors who added protections for the Stone?"

"Could be," Ron answered, "But didn't you say you thought Snape was after the Stone?"

"Just because he added protections doesn't mean he isn't after it anymore," Harry countered easily, "Just means there's one less obstacle for him to worry about."

But there wasn't time to dwell on the subject any further until after the next Quidditch match, which was inching closer by the day. And just like last time, Harry became noticeably quieter as his nerves were getting the better of him. His fellow Gryffindors offered as much encouragement and reassurance as they could, but Ron knew that Harry would only be completely relieved once Gryffindor wins the match.

And before long, the awaited day finally arrived.

It was a clear, albeit slightly less sunny afternoon when most of Hogwarts' population assembled in the stadium for the Gryffindor versus Slytherin game. As soon as Harry left with the rest of the Gryffindor team to change, Ron, Hermione and Neville went to find some good seats in the stands armed with their wands. Hermione had insisted on Ron and Neville learning the Leg Locker Curse, just in case, and among the three of them, worked out a plan on how to watch out for signs of anyone casting any jinxes or curses. Not that Ron thought they really needed it, but if it would help ease his friends' nerves, he was fine with it.

For that purpose, Neville suggested sitting on one of the middle platforms with a good view of where the staff was seated. From their position, they could also see the pitch clear enough to pick out Harry from the Gryffindor team, and it would be easy for them to follow their friend's flight around the field once the game is afoot.

Unfortunately, that meant that they would be sharing seats with…

"Ouch! What the—?"

"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."

That familiar, annoyingly nasal voice had Ron forcing air through his pursed lips in an effort to keep calm. "Fancy seeing you here too, Malfoy."

Beside him, Neville stiffened while he heard Hermione hiss in irritation. The redhead ignored them all in favor of subtly glancing at the others in the stands with them, finding only a few familiar faces who were barely his friends.

And not any other lion in sight, since we had to sit somewhere else to get a good vantage point. But why does Malfoy have to be here this time too? If I didn't know better, I'd say he just followed us here to be a total prick. Ron shook his head. On second thought, knowing him, he definitely would. What I'd give to smash the ferret's face in...no, Ron, stop! Change for the better, remember? You're supposed to be eighteen, not eleven! Don't let that idiot get a rise out of you!

"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on in his broom this time? Want to make a bet, Weasley?" Malfoy crooned haughtily. "Oh, that's right, you probably don't have even a single Knut to your name!"

"Hilarious, Malfoy, but I actually have a couple of Sickles on me right now."

Ron did a mental cheer when he saw Malfoy do a double take at his deadpan answer. Since he was fairly certain that Harry would stay safe in this match, he wasn't as high strung as he was in his first life, and was in a better mindset to verbally spar with this younger version of their pathetic rival. Seeing that Ron was keeping Malfoy occupied, Hermione gently directed Neville to focus on keeping his eyes on the pitch.

Snape had just blown the whistle to start the match, and at once, the players quickly dispersed, with Harry circling the pitch like a hawk in search of the Snitch. Hermione made a noise at the back of her throat, crossing her fingers while keeping her eyes on Harry, while Neville sucked in a breath and stayed rather still while gripping his wand tightly.

"You know how I think they choose people for your Quidditch team, Weasley?" Malfoy tried again. "They pick people they feel sorry for. There's Potter, who's got no parents, then your brothers, who have no money. Maybe you should try for your team, Longbottom, having no brains and all."

Neville's blush was especially apparent with his face as pale as it was right now, but he managed to say clearly. "I'm worth more than ten of you, Malfoy."

It got a laugh out of the idiot and his air-headed bodyguards, but Neville didn't say anything more. Ron grit his teeth in a bid to reign his temper in, but bloody hell, even at eleven, Malfoy was brilliant at pushing someone's buttons!

There has to be a way to get him off my back without having to use our fists or getting detention. Come on, Weasley, think. What made Malfoy leave us alone whenever he'd try to pick a fight with us, other than punching his stupid mug in? A nice jinx? Like that one that'll give him oversized buck teeth? Ron shook his head. No, Weasley, no ideas that could get you detention! So what else? Other than getting hurt or jinxed, it's usually because there's a Professor around, wasn't it? But there's no one around with enough authority or power to scare Malfoy and—

— wait, power?

A wild idea suddenly occurred to Ron. Now that he thought about it, it made a lot of sense since it was something Malfoy took as much pride in as being a Slytherin. He wouldn't have thought of it before, but after everything that happened, everything he had to learn this month…

And with the people around me, this could actually work. What do I have to lose at this point, anyway? At least I could say I tried to not go straight to giving Malfoy that black eye.

"—and if brains were gold, you'd be poorer than—"

"You know what, Malfoy, I think I want to take you on that bet."

The declaration cut Malfoy off so suddenly that it made Hermione and Neville look up to Ron in shock. From behind Ron, Malfoy spluttered in equal stupor. "Wh—what?"

"That bet you mentioned earlier, but with a few changes," said Ron, "I bet that Gryffindor will not only win the match, but also that Harry will catch the Snitch."

Malfoy sneered. "Like you have anything worth betting."

"What's wrong, Malfoy? I'm going all in risking my neck, two Sickles and more on this and you're not going to take it?" Ron said in a sing-song coo that he knew would grate on anyone's nerves. "You afraid you'll lose to a penniless blood traitor like me?"

Malfoy's jaw remained hanging open for a few more seconds before he forced his jaw closed with a growl and a bright angry red flush on his cheeks. "Ten galleons that you Gryffindors will lose, and Potter will eat shite."

Ron leaned back to his seat with a smirk on his face. "You're on, Malfoy."

At that moment, Harry suddenly made a fantastic dive, barreling past Snape, to the cheers of most of the audience. Hermione jumped up from her seat, clapping her hands fretfully. "Come on, Harry!"

Neville joined her, pumping a hand up in the air. "YOU CAN DO IT, HARRY! GO GET THAT SNITCH!"

For a long, heart stopping minute, the audience watched as the Seekers whipped around the field like darting arrows of red and green as both gave chase for the Snitch. It felt like forever before Harry shot up, again barely missing Snape, raising a hand clutching the Snitch frantically beating its wings, in triumph.

The stands erupted in pandemonium.

"HE DID IT! HARRY CAUGHT THE SNITCH!" Hermione and Neville traded hugs of giddy happiness and relief. "GRYFFINDOR WON! WE WON!"

"'Course we won." Ron said easily while joining his friends in their standing ovation for Harry. "Never doubted Harry for a second."

And the fact that I already knew that we will win, of course. But mostly me not doubting the Albus Dumbledore of flying…

"YOU!" Malfoy was onto his feet for a different reason, however, grabbing Ron by the collar. "You cheater! You set me up!"

The smile slid off Hermione's face, replaced by alarm. "Ron—!"

The time traveller raised a hand to stop Hermione or Neville from interfering, his face impassive as he regarded Malfoy. "Set you up, how exactly? The match was largely in your favor, wasn't it? But Harry won fair and square, and so did I."

Malfoy was close to foaming in the mouth with the way his face glowed with rage. Behind the blond, Crabbe and Goyle were on their feet as well, looking ready to join the fight should their boss just say the word.

But Ron was not finished. "And you're not going to back out of your word, are you? That would be downright shameful for the heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy to do, wouldn't it? To not keep their word when it was said in front of witnesses, especially in front of those from the great Noble Houses." He then met the gazes of each member he was referring to, looks ranging from surprised to curious. "Heir Nott. Heir Zabini. Heir Macmillan. Lady Haywood." He shifted his head to the side. "Not to mention Heir Longbottom, who you may have, ah, unintentionally slighted."

It was fascinating to watch the red in Malfoy's face turn sickly pale as he dropped his hold on Ron's collar as if he had just been made aware that it was actually hot coal. He could feel stares coming at him from all directions, but he kept his gaze on Malfoy, his face as neutral as he could manage, until the Slytherin turned with a curt order to Crabbe and Goyle.

Malfoy barely made two steps away when Ron called out. "Oh, and Heir Malfoy?"

The other boy skidded to a halt but didn't turn around.

"I never said what I wanted in exchange for winning the bet."

"I bet ten galleons!"

"That you did. But how about something else? Something without money involved?"

That made Malfoy turn around, his eyes wary but interested. "What is it?"

Ron gestured towards himself and his friends. "No coming after me or any of my friends anymore, for the rest of the year. That includes any name calling, harassment and the like. Sounds simple enough, right?"

It took a few more seconds, with much effort on Malfoy's part, but with the slightest incline of his head, the Slytherin answered. "Fine. But this isn't over, Weasley."

"For now, it is." Ron said, his voice a tad cold. "And if I find out that you tried to go around our agreement in any way, either by your or any of your cronies, then not only will I be making good on that ten galleons you owe me, but our world will know that Heir Malfoy is untrustworthy and not a Wizard of his word." He smiled innocently again. "Which you are not, of course. Am I right?"

A bit of fear actually made its way into Malfoy's eyes, plain enough for Ron to commit to memory, before the blond finally stalked away without looking back, leaving the platform in silence before Ron broke it.

"Right, sorry for dragging you lot into that." The boy said with a stretch of his thin arms.

"That. Was. Bloody Amazing, Ron!" Neville gushed admiringly. "You actually got Malfoy to leave us alone for the rest of the year! Wait till Harry hears about this!"

"Would he really leave us alone, though?" Hermione looked equally worried and confused. "You mentioned something about Ancient and Noble Houses earlier? Is it really that big of a deal?"

"For someone like Malfoy, definitely," said Neville, "Though it's not common practice anymore, following the Ways still stands, especially for the Most Ancient and Noble Houses."

"The...Ways?"

"We can talk about it later." Ron clapped both of his friends on their shoulders, ignoring the stares he was still getting from the others in their stand. "Come on! Let's go meet Harry!"

It took them a while, but they managed to find Harry near one of the arena exits, already out of his Quidditch uniform. But he was not alone.

"Sirius! Remus!" Ron exclaimed in pleasant surprise.

"Hullo, Ron!" Sirius greeted merrily, an arm around Harry's shoulder. "We were just about to come looking for you. Harry said he didn't see you with the other Gryffindors."

"Oh, err, just went to where the view was better, is all."

Remus then nodded towards the other two Gryffindors. "You must be Hermione and Neville. Harry's written much about you."

"This is Remus Lupin and my godfather, Sirius Black." Harry introduced the older wizards, practically glowing when he said the word 'godfather'.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black." Hermione said politely while Neville gave them a shy smile.

"We were going to let you know about that party the Quidditch team's got going at the Tower, Harry, but," Neville glanced at Sirius and Remus.

"We wouldn't want to intrude," said Remus. "We just came to see Harry's game. Such a talented flyer. James and Lily would have been so proud. James was a Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. But if he puts his mind to it, he can play for any position, really."

"You obviously got a lot of your father's talent." Sirius ruffled Harry's hair fondly. "Though I have to admit, that mad dive you did earlier nearly gave me a heart attack! If this was how it was for Lily whenever she'd watch us play, I take back everything I said about her worrying too much!"

"Oh, but…" The way Harry's eyes brightened at the prospect of spending more time with his godfathers (since Remus was one in all but paper, even in the first life), it was obvious that he wished Sirius and Remus wouldn't have to go so soon.

And as his best mate, Ron knew he was responsible for stopping Harry's misguided sense of duty from getting in the way of what he really wanted when it wasn't necessary.

"I don't think it'll be a problem." Ron said. "We'll just let the others know that Harry decided to celebrate with his godparents, since it's the first game they've been to and all."

"I think it would be a wonderful idea, Harry," Hermione agreed. "We'll just meet up in the Common Room when you get back."

"You should go, Harry," Neville added in a wistful tone, "Trust us, everyone will understand if you do."

Harry looked so taken aback by his friends' encouragement that it was kind of hilarious. "Err, I-that would be great, but...maybe, if Sirius and Remus have other plans-"

"'Course we don't!" Sirius said immediately. "Why wouldn't we want to spend more time with our little Prongslet? There's just this place in Hogsmeade that has food to die for!"

"I hope you don't mean that teashop, Padfoot." Remus said teasingly, making Sirius mock growl at him, while Harry tilted his head in confusion. "Teashop?"

"Of course not! Like I'd let Harry anywhere near that place until he's of age!"

"Isn't that a bit extreme? You've been going there since our-"

"Like what I said, Harry," Sirius half-shouted over Remus' rebuttal, already leading Harry back to the Great Hall. "There's this restaurant at Hogsmeade— this quaint village near Hogwarts that you can get to visit with your friends starting your Third Year— that makes the best mince pies and—"

"And they're off." Remus laughed before turning back to Ron, Hermione and Neville. "I really hope we're not intruding, though. We'd love to spend more time with Harry, but he's here at Hogwarts be with friends."

Ron scratched the back of his neck. "He's got months with us already, Remus. Missing a day won't hurt him."

"Besides, he's had years without family, so this will just be making up for lost time. And I'm sure Harry wants this more than he thinks he can say at the moment." Neville's cheeks then colored. "Not that I meant to imply that his Muggle relatives haven't been like family to him in some way-"

"It's all right," Remus smiled kindly. "I understand, Neville."

And truth be told, you're not far off the mark there, Ron thought to himself.

"I'd best be off. As much as I trust Sirius with keeping Harry safe, he does have the tendency to get carried away too easily." The sandy haired wizard straightened his coat. "On behalf of myself and Sirius, thank you for being such good friends to Harry."

"The pleasure is all ours, Mr. Lupin." Hermione answered for them.

"Remus is fine, Hermione. Mr. Lupin makes me feel too old." He waved a hand. "It was nice meeting all of you!"

"Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin seem like really nice blokes, huh?" Neville said once he, Ron and Hermione were on their back to the Tower.

Hermione nodded eagerly. "I've never seen Harry smile so brightly before. Hopefully, Harry could spend more time with them during the summer break. It would be nice if Sirius could adopt Harry, since he's his godfather. But it wouldn't be right to make him choose between his Muggle guardians and Sirius and Remus, would it?"

"Wouldn't even be a bloody contest." Ron mumbled lowly, sorely wishing he could tell his friends that Harry's experience with the Dursleys was far from pleasant, but that wasn't his story to tell. Not that Harry ever told them outright, however. Ron and Hermione had managed to figure it out from the little clues they pieced together from the meager hints Harry had dropped every now and then. He just had to trust that Neville and Hermione would be able to do the same in this timeline as well.

That, or somehow find a way for Sirius to get Harry away from the Dursleys, whichever comes first.

"But I wonder what kept Harry for so long," Hermione continued. "We saw the rest of the Quidditch team come right up after the game ended. Harry, though, had been gone for, what, ten more minutes? He actually had me a little worried."

Ron shrugged. "Whatever it was, if it's anything important, I reckon Harry will tell us all about it as soon as he gets back."

Neville frowned thoughtfully. "You think it has something to do with the Stone? Or whoever it is that's trying to get it?"

It's something that will definitely make you doubt Snape even more. Ron groaned in his head, not looking forward to having to play the devil's advocate again. Why does he have to be so good at making everyone believe he's the bad guy? Is there such a thing as being too suspicious to be true?

Whatever. I'll just worry about this once Harry gets back. In the meantime, I hope Fred and George have some of that butterbeer left. I like pumpkin juice as much as the next bloke, but after all this shite I've been through, don't I deserve to have at least one bloody bottle?

Second Chance Notebook

Things to Do

27 December 1991

[X] WORK ON THIS STUBBORN WAND!

[X ] Help others learn about Flamel without being obvious about me knowing who Flamel is

[X] Convince mates to join the study clubs

[ ] Get Norberta out of Hogwarts while avoiding detention and being bitten by the ungrateful oversized lizard

[ ] Learn Occlumency?

[ ] Learn more about the Deluminator

[ ] Help Harry get safely past the traps guarding the stone

[ ] Stop Quirrel from getting the stone.

[ ] Don't die trying

Well, that's done. Yay!

Still in the process of migrating the whole fanfic to AO3. Hopefully, I'll be able to finish soon so I can post the latest chapters simultaneously. And the art! Need to work on the art.

Again, thank you for reading all the way down here. And thank you also to everyone who are still following TBA and kept it in their favorites. Feel free to send in your comments, suggestions and corrections! I thrive in the discussion and interacting with my readers. Hope this chapter is to your liking.

See you in the next one!

UP NEXT: 
Did someone miss a certain baby dragon? Ron definitely did not, but whether he likes it or not, Norberta is coming to officially be his problem. Will the temperamental, perpetually teething lizard's great escape go over well for everyone involved?

Chapter Text

I've been getting this question quite a bit lately, so I'll mention it here in case someone else has the same concern. A reader mentioned wondering about what happened to "Ron asking Ginny about the Lovegoods" bit, and said that maybe I forgot about it. Short answer: I didn't.

Long answer: In stories, there are things called set-ups and pay-offs, and in a story as long as TBA (like in the HP books), I can have the pay-offs come up from shortly to long after (as in books later) their setups were introduced.

Example, Ron getting his custom wand was set-up in Year One, Chap 10 (Y1. C.10) and wasn't mentioned again until this chapter (Y.1, C.14). More examples include Snape's Ron-inheriting something-from-the-Prewetts line (Y0, C3) and the long running problem with Charlie's old wand (since Y.1, C.2)

Point is, depending on the way the story is planned, you will encounter several of these set-ups that don't get explored or resolved again until later, as is the nature of writing a story where there is a lot of B- and even C-plots happening: Harry yelling at Hermione last Halloween, Bill and Charlie finding out about the troll, what happened with the Lovegoods, and the secret Ron told Ginny in exchange for her silence regarding Pettigrew, among some others. Honestly, I would be impressed if you remembered all of it.

However, I can understand why it can be confusing for some when plot points are seemingly brought up then suddenly left hanging, so I appreciate it when people point these out in concern that I may have forgotten. As of now, I can assure you I haven't forgotten anything, but feel free to let me know in case you think I did. Who knows, right?

Plus, now I know that I have very attentive readers, so that makes me really happy. Thanks, AzureAlquimista and general-thinks!

And another review from Guest! Whoopee! If this is the same Guest as before, you really need to have a better name. *winks* But thanks for letting me know that it was Remus who said that about Hermione, because unlike her, I can't remember all the lines from all seven books. Is that line as iconic as Dumbledore's "To the well-organized mind, death but is the next great adventure," (I have the Scholastic Press First Edition version of PS/SS, in case it's written in a different way in the Bloomsbury one) that I have to retain it word for word? Let me know so I can see if it should be changed.

That said, I prefer "brightest" over "cleverest", and "her age" over "her generation." Because synonyms are a thing. I know, amazing, right? :)

Lastly, pardon my French. You'll know what I mean.  And major thanks again to my hard-working beta, AC.nelli! 

Chapter Fourteen:

Hatch and Flight

The beginning of the rainy season also marked the start of the exam period, at least if one would ask Hermione Granger. She was especially frantic in making sure that all her notes were organized and colour coded, her schedules in proper order, and her homework completed and reviewed at least three times.

"But exams are ages away!" Neville told her once.

"You mean four months away!" Hermione snapped. "That's like a second before Nicholas Flamel!"

"We're nowhere near six hundred years old, Hermione." Ron said dryly. "Besides, why are you driving everyone barmy over all this stuff you could recite in your sleep?"

The girl's brown eyes flared. "We cannot afford to be complacent, Ron! The upcoming exams are very important for our progression to second year. I don't know why I didn't study all this earlier! I don't know what has gotten into me!"

"Relax. I'm not saying you shouldn't study. I'm saying that you ought not to burn yourself out. Give yourself a little break every once in a while." Then Ron took the book out of her hands, much to the girl's protest. "And for Merlin's sake, eat properly! It's not like Goshawk will be going anywhere anyway!"

"You give me back my book right now, Ronald—"

But Harry cut her off by plopping a couple of French toasts on Hermione's plate. "It's a lost cause, Hermione. At least, until you clear your plate. That's how he is with me before every match, remember?"

Ron mock glared at his best mate, but at least he got Hermione to focus on finishing her breakfast again. Although Ron knew that Harry's intervention was in part also due to him wanting to spare everyone's ears from Hermione's tireless recitation of the standard list of First Year spells for the tenth or so time.

Not that Ron blamed him, really.

During pre-exam period (even if said exams were months away), Hermione would always be a frazzled mess, fretting over every minute detail of their classes, to the point that everyone around her felt her stress in some way. But what Harry didn't know was that she was marginally easier to deal with this time around, something Ron thought he could attribute to Sue's influence. While the petite Ravenclaw had proven herself capable of being Hermione's intellectual equal, she was also more relaxed, in a way that while she loves to study, she takes it in stride and doesn't make it look as overwhelming as Hermione, unfortunately, tended to.

She claimed that the keys are prioritizing and not being too hard on oneself while learning.

"Relax, Hermione. I'm sure you've already out studied nearly everyone in our year, and it's only February," reasoned Sue during one of their breaks in the Arithmancy study club.

"But—but what if I forget something? I have to keep reviewing, or else—"

"You know, if you constantly study about something, you'll eventually commit it to long term memory, right?" Sue then perked up. "I've got it! Let's try making associations with our topics. Association improves memory, and it'll be fun too!"

"Association? How?"

"Let's try it with the twelve uses for dragon's blood—"

Ron really admired how Sue can make learning about something as mundane as dragon's blood to be actually pretty fun. He had to admit, her "let's go to a trip to the bakeshop" example helped imprint the subject better on his memory.

(Although he'll probably never look at a loaf of bread again and not remember that dragon's blood can be used as an oven cleaner.)

Of course, Hermione just had to create these amazing leaps of connections among their courses in a way that Ron knew his brain could never catch up to, but it was all right if she was obviously enjoying herself.

Neville, on the other hand, was steadily improving in Potions. Harry mentioned that he was less prone to fumbling about during Potions classes, and was actually mentioning information about the Potion ingredients and anything else Neville learned during the Potions study club. Neville had been especially ecstatic when he and Harry received their first EE grade for their Strength Potion, much so in fact that he happily shared the news to Imhotep without prompting. It made Ron happy, in turn, that Neville's confidence was growing as well. The sooner the self-assured Neville Ron knew returned, the better for everyone.

As for Harry, however, he was the one most occupied by the Philosopher's Stone mystery, now that he fully believed that Snape was the one who wanted to steal the Stone. While he, Hermione and Neville were now firmly in the anti-Snape, pro-Quirrel corner after Harry told them about the two Professors' exchange in the forest, it was Harry who was relentless in his pursuit for further information. He had actually asked Hagrid right away for more information, and also kept a close eye on Quirrel and Snape for any indication Snape may have gone after the Stone again.

Ron was baffled over how much more invested Harry was than he remembered his best mate being in the past. He had expressed his concern about it to Neville once (since the bloke is apparently rather good with reading people), and it was Neville who offered the strangest plausible reasoning.

"I think it's because he wants to prove that it's Snape who's behind it," began Neville, which made Ron shrug. "I can already tell that much, Nev. But that doesn't explain why he's focusing on that more than, well, anything else."

Neville hesitated before answering. "Well, there's the fact that the Stone can't fall into the wrong hands—"

"Again, I know—"

"And there's also the fact that, for some reason, you still think Snape's innocent, and it bothers Harry more than he's letting on." Neville finished with a slight smirk at Ron's gobsmacked expression. "Did you know that?"

"But—but—! That's ridiculous! Why would he—?"

"Because you are bloody daft when it comes to understanding people's opinion of you, for one thing," Neville pat Ron's shoulder as if in comfort. "Another is that I think Harry wants you on his side on practically everything, and it really bothers him when you two are at odds on something."

Ron cleared his throat. "Just because we're all best mates doesn't mean we'll agree on everything. That's not how this works."

"I know, Ron." Neville said sympathetically. "And it's not like he's mad at you for it. None of us are. I just wish I knew why you're so sure Snape is innocent, even after all the evidence."

"And it's all circumstantial evidence!" At the confusion on Neville's face, Ron elaborated. "Evidence that only imply but don't really prove something. Learned about that during Pettigrew's hearing."

"Someone did a lot of thinking about this."

"Because making Snape the bad guy is just too easy! There must be something we're overlooking!"

The chubby boy shrugged. "I guess I can understand why you'd think that, and to be honest, I'm starting to see your point. But since Snape and Professor Quirrell are still here, that must mean the Stone is still safe for now. Besides, honestly, I'd rather keep an eye on Harry than on a Stone that I can't do anything for."

Ron had conceded that point, but he couldn't help but dwell on the idea of Harry wanting to prove Snape's guilt to get Ron to his side more than anything. But then again, Ron was usually on Harry's side of things (except for those two terribly dick-headed decisions on Ron's part). Yet, during those times, Harry never really actively tried to get Ron to come to his side whenever their views differed. It hadn't mattered to Harry before whether Ron believed him or not, because Harry had been perfectly fine—rightfully angry, sure, but all right on his own—so what made now any different?

Everything was how it should be when he and Neville met up with Harry again much later; talking about Quidditch, laughing at some silly jokes Ron heard from his brothers, dragging Hermione into a game of Exploding Snap, and reading the latest letter Harry got from Sirius and Remus.

Ron shook his head. Neville may be good at reading people, but he might be mistaken with this one. Harry was a great friend, his brother in all but blood, but he was also the Boy-Who-Lived: strong in heart and magic, brave and loyal, and the biggest hero in the future fight against Voldemort.

And since Ron was, and will always be, nothing compared to that, Harry will eventually realize that he was far from reliable or irreplaceable. Just like Harry had in the first life.

Just like how everyone else will.

It was a cool Saturday afternoon when Ron came to the Ancient Runes study club classroom to see Professor Hui, excited butterflies fluttering in his stomach. It was going to be the first day of what Hui called their "wand aptitude tests" sessions, and Ron was both nervous and eager to find out just how different these sessions will be compared to his experience with Ollivander.

There was also a bit of good news Ron wanted to share. "I don't know why it worked, but it did, Professor!" Ron said happily over the tea Hui served him—a light but distinct, slightly bittersweet herbaceous blend Hui called "matcha"—while raising Charlie's old wand. "Charlie looked at me like I had gone a bit barmy when I told him about it, but after he asked the wand to play nice, it worked." He paused. "Well, it's not perfect, but at least it's not actively trying to make my life hell."

"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Weasley," Hui held the wand appraisingly before nodding. "The way this wand feels in my hands proves your statement. Of course, as you have said, it is not the perfect solution, as the wand may be doing this only out of respect to your brother. There is no way of knowing up to how far will the wand cooperate with you with that in mind."

"It's still mind-boggling how the wands act more sentient than I thought." Ron said honestly. "Makes me wonder if talking to it will help. Like it getting to know me or something like that? Does that even make sense?"

Hui smiled. "Absolutely. Magical folk who showed respect towards wands and magical objects create the most steadfast of bonds with them, with some so strong that no one but those who the object consider their rightful owners can ever wield or touch them even. Can you think of any magical object that was strongly associated with any figure in history?"

Ron's mind went back to the History of Magic lessons he had with Percy. "Err, Excalibur? King Arthur Pendragon's sword?"

"Excalibur was the sword the Lady of the Lake handed to Arthur Pendragon in exchange for a favour, yes, but over time, Arthur managed to imprint a part of himself into that blade, the same way Excalibur did on him. The same can be said with Arthur's first sword, Caliburn, which chose him to be the Once and Future King, the only one who could pull it out of the stone." Hui paused for a sip of his tea. "And there are other examples throughout history I can name: Manannan mac Lir's kin and Fragarach; his own descendant, Cú Chulainn and Gáe Bolg; Guān Yu, a legendary Chinese general hailed to be a war God, and the Qīng lóng yanyuèdāo; Parashurama then his pupil, Karna, and the bow, Vijaya, said to be a gift from the Hindu God of Destruction, Shiva. But since you're not here for a history lesson, let's move on, shall we?"

Ron blinked. "But aren't most of them myths?"

"If that is what you choose to believe." Hui said cryptically. "And whether you can believe that I have seen some of them with my own eyes, is just as much up to you."

Ron did a double-take. "You what?"

"We could discuss it further another time, as always. But we are here for your aptitude assessment. Now then," Hui placed a rectangular briefcase in front of Ron after clearing away the tea. "I'll start by taking your measurements and other pertinent information before we start sampling the wand woods. But before I do so, it is pertinent that I explain to you the basic process of wand making.

"As you already know, wands are made up of two key components: the wand wood and the core. The core acts as the main power source and conduit of your magic to the wand, and the wood acts as the conduit between your magic and the rest of the world, ensuring that your magic will have the desired effect on your targets, though how effective that will be, will depend on a variety of factors.

"The ability to use magic is not limited to wands, but they remain one of the most effective casting tools because of their stability and the fact that they can be made closely compatible with their masters. This means that, while it is true that wands work best with the wizards they chose, any wizard can theoretically make any wand work for them, should they have the right kind of willpower and personality. And before you ask, being able to make—or, should I say, coerce—any wand to work for you is not necessarily a good ability to have, nor will it be able to work as a long term solution."

Ron cringed at the word "coerce". If the wands were as sentient as he was starting to believe, he can only imagine how it must feel to be forced to work for a wizard they didn't like.

"Ideally, a wizard's wand should be as unique as possible, being made just for them and tailor-fit to their personality and strengths. But since a general wand store, say Ollivander's, will not be able to conduct such a lengthy process for all their clients, potential customers are made to try out different pre-made combinations and lengths of wands available until they find what is the best fit." Hui went on. "This will require a meticulous and experienced wandmaker to flourish, proving that the Ollivander family rightfully deserved their decades-old renown to be the best in the field.

"After I take your initial information, I will have you test these wand woods—my generic testing set—compatibility. Note that these will not be the final ones I'll be using for your wand. These will just enable me to narrow down which specific type of wand wood will work best for you."

Ron blinked. "So if, say, the wand wood for me is…" He recalled his old wand wood. "Willow. Would that mean I'll have to test for other types of Willow wand woods?"

"And then we will have to find the core, or cores even, that will be compatible with both you and the wand wood. Or wand woods, if you will be equally compatible with more than one type or family of wand wood." Hui smiled merrily at the thought. "See now why I told you it is a lengthy process?"

"…I didn't expect it to be this complicated. But let's do it."

Hui waved his wand, levitating a couple of tape measures. "Wand arm, Mr. Weasley?"

"Err, right." Ron expected that to be the end of the questioning as the tape measures went across and around his right arm, but then Hui went on.

"What would you say is your best subject in class at the moment? Say the first thing that comes to mind."

Ron did so. "Defense Against the Dark Arts."

If the answer surprised Hui, he did not show it. "Are you more of a proactive or reactive sort of person?"

"I used to be reactive, but now I'm more of a proactive sort. Less shi—stuff going awry that way."

"And the subject you would say is your weakest?"

"Err, History of Magic."

"And the subject you wish to be your best?"

"...Still Defense Against the Dark Arts." Ron answered after a moment's contemplation. "But I'd want to be better at Charms too."

"Which is better: to risk it, or to play it safe? Generally speaking."

Another pause. "...Play it safe."

"And is there such a thing as magic that should not be used, no matter the circumstances?"

Ron thought of the Unforgiveable Curses and nodded. "Absolutely. Especially Crucio, that should never be used on anybody." He then blanched upon realizing. "Ah, I probably shouldn't know that…"

Hui waved a hand. "You have a reputation of reading too far ahead. I'm not that surprised."

Ron didn't know whether to feel relieved or troubled at that answer.

"For my final question," Hui met Ron's eyes with an intense stare. "Why do you wish to master your magic?"

There was just something about the way Hui's eyes seemed to ask for honesty that made Ron answer without thinking. "Because I have people I want to protect."

Hui blinked slowly. "To protect?"

Ah, shite. "Err, my family, we don't have the best standing in the Wizarding World. Our pro-Muggle stance got us a lot of enemies. Not to mention I'm friends with Harry Potter. If it will help me protect them, I'll learn all that I can."

Hui hummed in obvious contemplation before nodding. "…Interesting," He said after a while, making Ron release a breath, "All right. Now let us try the wand woods."

The half-goblin tapped the briefcase on the table before them. To Ron's amazement, the case not only opened but from it sprouted a tree-like structure that bloomed like a flower, its glowing golden branches spreading throughout the classroom, the ends then dropping to reveal hanging orbs that resembled fruit.

"Do you like it? One of my latest inventions. I call it the Yggdrasil." Hui said with a proud smile.

"Yggdrasil?"

"Named after the sacred tree worshipped by the northern ancestors." Hui explained. "You see, wand woods without cores tend to influence each other when they're too close to one another and confuse the client, hence why it's ideal to have wand wood testing in a room where wand woods are separated at a certain length from each other. But since I do home visits and want to make things more convenient for my clients, I made this. The wand woods are contained in the hanging fruits, made especially so they won't be able to interfere too much with the wood's magical energy."

"If no one's ever told you, Professor Hui, you're bloody amazing." Ron said in unabashed admiration

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley. Now, go on, take which of the fruits call most strongly to you." Hui then added. "Closing your eyes might help."

Thinking nothing of it, Ron did as instructed, and then he found himself in a whole new world. It was like being in a symphony, with the wand woods having their own beats and melodies resonating with his magic, from excited yips, gentle humming, melodious song and even heart-thumping bass. It was an experience he could barely describe in words.

But there were several sounds that called to him above all others. One was a soothing song, reminding him of how Fleur used to hum to them to sleep during those nights at Shell Cottage. Another was clear, strong and distinct, a clinking of bells above the song and cacophony. And the last, reminiscent of a deep, haunting synchrony of a chorus, filling him with a sense of power and awareness.

Next thing he knew, he had three fruits in his hands.

What? Since when did I—?

"Splendid! Splendid!" Hui's excited voice rose Ron out of his stupor. "Always an experience to see a client find the wand woods for them. And you found three!"

"Err…I didn't even know how I got these." Ron said, still bemused over what happened. "It was, as soon as I shut my eyes, it was like I heard all of them so clearly, but these are the ones who called to me. I didn't even realize I moved."

"Amazing how strongly wand woods can call out to potential owners, isn't it?" Hui laid the three fruits on an empty table. "Before I reveal the woods, can you tell me which wand wood's call was the most distinct? The one you were most drawn to?"

Ron eyed the fruits, each of them still calling to his magic in their unique ways. But Ron had to admit, "That one. The rightmost fruit. The one that sounded like a choir, if that makes sense."

"As long as it does to you. We all perceive the call of the woods differently, Mr. Weasley. You hear music, for instance, while I smell chemicals."

When Hui moved his wand, Ron expected him to tap the rightmost fruit. Instead, the half-goblin tapped the one at the opposite end, the one that sang like a lullaby, revealing a thin, light colored wood.

"Willow, yes? The wand wood of the healer, one that chooses a master with much potential, as well as one of much emotional depth and awareness. One of the more grounded and gentle-natured of the wand woods known for their patience with their masters, although it has a tendency to be melancholic, especially when paired with emotional cores such as tail hairs of unicorns or certain members of the mystical felidae—the wild cats—family."

Willow? I'm not surprised that it called to me, but it's not the strongest? Ron thought, slightly worried. The willow wand with the unicorn tail was the wand that first picked him in his previous life. And while this proved the connection was still there, the fact that it was muted by the other two…

"Now, the next wand wood." Hui tapped on the wand wood that resonated the toll of clear bells. The wood before them was smooth white with the occasional dark spots. "Now that's a surprise! Aspen!"

"Aspen?" Ron repeated. He hadn't heard of that wood before.

"How curious, to be chosen by both the wand woods of the healer and that of the revolutionary! You are becoming a more interesting wizard by the minute, Mr. Weasley."

"A revolutionary? You can tell that from the wand wood?"

"Certain wand woods are drawn to wizards with purpose, a destiny, if you will. For the aspen, they prefer wizards who are meant for a great calling to change either themselves or, more often than not, the world. They are also known for their aptitude for charms as well as their strong-willed nature. Aspens are some of the most loyal of wand woods to those they believe are worthy of their power. Should your wand wood ultimately be aspen, however, I advise for you to continuously strive for growth and self-respect, as aspen wands will not remain with a wielder who is weak in mind or spirit." Hui turned his gaze to the last fruit. "And for your final, and theoretically, most suited wand wood…"

When Hui tapped the fruit and it blossomed open, the choir song resonated through Ron like a war cry, making him lurch back in shock. What the hell?! "Professor, did you feel that?"

"…My, my, just when I thought you can't get any more surprising…"

The way Hui's eyes dimmed to focused wonder made Ron's heart skip in anxiety. "Err, Professor?"

Hui lifted the last shaft on the table, a knotted dark wood, so grey it was almost black. "I have had the number of clients from different parts of the world, Mr. Weasley, and I only need a hand to count how many were called by this particular wood."

"…Do I want to know what it is?"

The half-goblin studied Ron for a moment before shaking his head. "I have always thought you were far more mature for your age. That is one of the reasons I proposed this arrangement in the first place."

"I think you're giving me far too much credit, Professor Hui."

"You would think that, since you don't know much about me, Mr. Weasley." Hui said. "More importantly, the means I have to determine the character of those I meet."

Ron felt a cold sweat trickle at the back of his neck. "Wh—what?"

"But this is one thing I may have to withhold explaining for now, not until I am certain that this wood is the one for you."

"That just makes me even more nervous!"

"It is to be expected. At the moment, you may think of this as a type of Honeysuckle."

That threw the redhead on a loop. "Honeysuckle? Is that even a real wand wood?"

"One of the rarest and pickiest there is. One that, once it has decided on the master it wants, it will have no one else. Relentless, ever searching, until they are where they feel they belong."

Ron inhaled sharply. "You can't be serious."

"The last client who eventually came to own a wand of this wood told me the same thing." The goblin smiled almost sadly. "And for your sake, I hope that if you are truly meant for this, you will be ready for what it will mean."

Honeysuckle. Who even makes wands out of honeysuckle?

Ron grumbled to himself as he made his way back to the Tower from the library, days after his meeting with Hui. And so far, the few books he found were in consensus that such a wand wood doesn't exist, even as a wand wood reject.

But Professor Hui made it seem like it's an official type of wand wood, and he comes off as someone who really knows his stuff. Ron frowned at the thought. Then again, he's right, I don't know much about Professor Hui at all. I know I should be more worried about that, since he seems to be hiding more cards under his sleeves. Not that I blame him, since goblins and wizards never had the best relationships, more so half-goblins.

Yet, despite these thoughts, he couldn't bring himself to actually distrust the lecturer. That didn't mean Hui was off his suspicious people meter, though.

Just because someone is nice doesn't mean they don't have their own agendas, and those agendas may not always have your best interests at heart. He bit his lip. But, bloody hell, I really don't want to think Professor Hui is someone I need to put my guard up. He's just so…nice. And he's gone out of his way to offer to make me a wand, all because he somehow thinks I'm worth it…

But just what could he mean about the honeysuckle wand wood? And why did he make it sound so…ominous?

"Once it has decided on the master it wants, it will have no one else."

The thought made Ron shudder. Can a wand wood really do that? It's not even a full wand yet, but can it be that sentient, to the point of being that demanding? And here I thought Charlie's old wand was stubborn!

Let's approach this logically. Among the wand woods I remember, which one sounds close enough to be the honeysuckle one? All I know is that it is rare and a picky wand wood. Ron went through the wand woods he read about. So yew, blackthorn, ebony, cherry, and holly. And if I'm going to add stubbornness as a trait, it will come down to yew, blackthorn or ebony. Makes sense, since the wand wood earlier was rather dark, wasn't it? I reckon I should read more about those three, but from what I know, they don't sound so bad. Ginny's wand was yew, if I remember right, and she was brilliant with it!

Unless I'm missing something again…

"—RON!"

"Oi, what?" Blue eyes turned round to meet a pair of frustrated green ones. "Harry? What is it?"

"Nothing much, really. Just trying to catch your attention for a good minute now." Harry said dryly.

"Err, sorry, mate. Just have a lot in mind. Wasn't paying attention."

"You tend to do that too much lately. Everything all right?"

"Nothing big. Don't worry about it." Ron said easily. "Anyway, do you need something?"

Harry stared at him incredulously. "…Do you even know what day it is today?"

"Monday." Ron then frowned at the return of Harry's frustrated look. "What else is it supposed to be? I know it's Monday today because we were supposed to turn in that mammoth essay on making pineapples tap dance for Charms today!"

"…Just come with me."

"Can you, at least, tell me what the deal is?"

"If you don't get your arse moving, I will put you in a FullBody-Bind!"

"Oi, no need to be violent! What's wrong with what I said?! …Hey, Harry! HARRY!"

"…SURPRISE!"

When Ron finally managed to catch up to Harry in the Tower, he was showered by a bunch of confetti, shiny paper and ribbons.

"Wha—?"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RON!" After Ron cleared the last of the confetti from his vision, he saw his brothers, the Gryffindor first years, the rest of the Quidditch team and Lee Jordan smiling brightly under a banner with the words "Happy 12th Birthday, Ronniekins!", a two layered chocolate cake, plates of biscuits and cookies, and mugs of pumpkin juice on the Common Room table.

"Oh." Ron blinked in realization.

"Oh?" That made Percy start in bemusement. "Don't tell me you actually forgot it was your birthday today!"

"Err…"

"Look what you two did!" Percy rounded on the twins. "I told you hiding his gifts from home would be a bad idea!"

"Bloody hell, it's not like we thought—"

"—that he'd actually forget his own birthday!"

"Hey, it's no big deal, Perce! I mean, you actually managed to surprise me, so it's a win in your books, right?" Ron said placatingly. "And to think you guys did this much for me!"

"No wonder you were acting like nothing's wrong when we weren't saying anything the whole day!" Fred bemoaned, obviously disappointed in Ron's lack of reaction earlier. "You had us worried you already knew about the surprise."

"Sorry. Just had a lot in mind."

Hermione frowned at him. "That's been happening a lot lately."

Great. Even Hermione's getting worried. "Well, whatever it is, it's nothing compared to this!" Ron smiled at the cake. "Wicked! How'd you blokes get this up here?"

George smirked. "We'd tell you, Ronniekins—"

"—but then we'd have to kill you."

"No, you won't." Ron deadpanned. "You love me too much."

"Touché."

"He got us good, Forge!"

"Anyway, can we all have some of the cake now? Wouldn't do to keep everyone else waiting."

Angelina flicked her wand over the candles on the cake. "Not until you do the birthday boy honors!"

Ron pretended to sound long suffering. "If I have to."

And it was in the background of everyone singing "Happy Birthday to you" in varying tempos that Ron blew the candles, causing another round of confetti to burst out of nowhere (he hoped the House Elves won't have a hard time cleaning all that up) before the group broke into conversation over their sweets.

Ron was left with an armful of gifts from his brothers, Harry, Hermione and Neville, the latter three feeling put out over Ron not telling them that today was his birthday.

"If Percy hadn't told us about the surprise party he and the twins have been planning since yesterday, we never would have found out." Harry said, still obviously miffed about it.

"Oi, it's not that I can just go and tell you lot, 'Oh, by the way, my birthday is on 1st of March, just so you know.'" He said in exasperation.

"And it's just not fair, since you know all of our birthdays!" Hermione pointed out. "I don't even know how you found out!"

Ron shrugged. "Harry's and Neville's were pretty obvious. As for yours, I have my ways."

Neville shook his head. "You and your mysteries, Ron."

"But I think it's great you are part of the surprise. Really means a lot to me that you went through all the trouble."

"We're your friends, Ron!" Hermione said in exasperation. "And it's no trouble, really. You're the one who kept saying I needed a break from my books every now and then, weren't you?"

Ron laughed. "Right."

"And you looked like you needed the break too." Neville added. "You've been looking out of sorts for a while now. It's got nothing to do with the you-know-what, does it?"

The time traveler's gut clenched at the worry in his friend's eyes. He should have known his friends would have noticed his sudden change in mood. Did his brothers notice too, he wondered? Was that why they organised this surprise party?

What the hell are you doing, Ron?

"I'm really sorry about that, Nev. It wasn't even anything too important anyway," said Ron, "Was just too worried over what-if's that I really can't do anything about."

"If it's something we can help with, you know you can tell us," Hermione said. "Well, even if it might not be something we can help with, you can tell us anyway."

"My Gran always said that we shouldn't try to worry too much about the future. Makes us lose sight of what's in front of us." Neville added kindly. "And besides, whatever it is, I'm sure you'll be able to handle it!"

Ron winced. "I wish I knew where your faith in me is coming from, Nev."

"And I wish I knew where yours kept disappearing to." Harry said sharply.

"Somewhere in the real world, I reckon." Ron shrugged. "But Neville's right. No sense worrying too much over something that isn't here yet. I'll deal with it when it comes, just like I always do." He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "And I'm glad I have such wicked mates to knock some sense into me whenever I get lost in my own head!"

And Ron meant it. Maybe it was a consequence of being a time traveler, but Ron became more prone to overthinking things and events to the point where he blocked everything else out. Having his friends there to pull him out of his self-made burrow of anxiety and careful planning helped in not only relieving him of some of that burden, but also in reminding him about the importance of what was in front of him right now.

Well, whatever it means—me matching with that honeysuckle or whatever-that-wood-is wand in the future—I'll just have to face it as it comes. Because what I need to worry about is what I know will be coming.

But Norberta. Oh, Merlin, Norberta. That fucking dragon I can definitely do something about.

"Hagrid, what are you doing here?"

The surprise in Neville's tone was well-warranted, since they have never seen Hagrid anywhere near the library, let alone anywhere inside the castle past the Great Hall before. Neville had seen the half-giant strode into their view while he, Harry, Ron and Hermione were busy working on their respective homework (or, in Ron's case, his Ancient Runes study club essay).

"Jus' lookin', is all." Hagrid answered in a painfully apparent shifty tone. "An' what are you lot up ter? Yer still not pokin' yer nose in on the you-know-wha', are yeh?"

"We're working on homework, actually." Hermione answered. "But since you're here, Hagrid, we might as well ask you about the Sto—"

"SHHH!" Hagrid shushed her while quickly looking around. "Don' go shoutin' about it! What's the matter with yeh?"

"You said there were other Professors beside Snape guarding it," Harry tried again. "If you could at least—"

"I said shush!" Hagrid's eyes shifted around again before his voice lowered to a whisper. "Listen—you lot come an' see me later. I'm not promisin' anythin', but don't go rabbitin' about it in 'ere. You're not supposed to know about—"

"We won't, we won't." Harry assured him quickly. "We'll see you later."

It was after Hagrid shuffled off that Hermione mentioned she saw him carrying a couple of books, prompting Ron to get up and search for the section Hagrid had been to, coming back with a few books on what he already knew about.

"Dragons! Hagrid was looking up on dragons!"

"Nothing unusual there. Hagrid always said he wanted a dragon," said Harry.

"Not that simple with these titles." Ron pulled out some books into view. "From Egg to Inferno. A Dragon Keeper's Guide. An Idiot's Guide on How to Tame Your Dragon. Now that's a load of rubbish! You can't tame a dragon!"

"So he's been looking into dragon care?" Hermione frowned worriedly. "Reading about dragons is one thing. But on dragon care specifically? What are the chances of Hagrid actually having dragon on him right now?"

"Not very likely." Neville answered. "Dragon breeding has been outlawed since the 1700's. Only dedicated reserves are allowed to raise them. That eventually made dragon eggs into some of the most expensive smuggled goods, brought in by poachers for a hefty amount of galleons."

"That's true," Ron nodded, "Always makes Charlie downright pissed if you ask him about it."

"…You don't think Hagrid might have somehow, uhm," Hermione fidgeted, "Acquired one, do you?"

Harry's lips thinned. "I'd hope not, if it is as illegal as it sounds. Are there any wild dragons in Britain?"

"Common Welsh Greens and Hebridean Blacks," said Ron. "But if an egg is smuggled in? It could be anything from a Hungarian Horntail to an Ukrainian Ironbelly, the biggest dragon there is."

Harry sighed. "I suppose we'll only find out once we go see Hagrid."

It was a sign of how troubled Hermione was that she immediately closed her book. "Then what are we waiting for?"

The gamekeeper's hut was sweltering hot when Hagrid let the four inside, most of the heat coming from the blazing fire in the grate at the center of the house. There were varying degrees of bemusement and concern over the strange situation the Gryffindors found themselves in, but they ignored their discomfort in favor of the matter at hand.

"So yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"Yes." Harry began. "You said there were others defending the Stone apart from Fluffy and Snape. Can you tell us more about them?"

Hagrid shifted uncomfortably. "Yeh know I can't just say that. For one, I don't know meself. Another, even if I did know, I can't tell yeh. Yeh shouldn't even know about the Stone in the first place!"

"Oh, but we were just worried, Hagrid." Hermione said in a warm, flattering voice. "As much as Professor Dumbledore trusts you to guard the stone, I'm sure there are others who are helping with such an important task. And we know that you do know, since you know everything that's been going on in school. We just want to make sure that the others helping you with keeping the stone safe are really trustworthy."

Laying it on thick, eh, Hermione. Ron nevertheless traded knowing smirks with Harry and Neville as Hagrid, puffing with pride, let his guard down a bit.

"Well, let's see…he borrowed Fluffy from me, then some o' the teachers helped with the enchantments." Hagrid ticked them off with his fingers. "There's Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, Professor Quirrell too. And then there's what is it Professor Dumbledore did."

A flash of worry crossed Harry's eyes as he prompted further. "But no one else knows how to get past Fluffy, do they Hagrid?"

"Nope." Hagrid puffed his chest again. "Not a soul, 'cept me an' Professor Dumbledore."

"Well, that's—"

"Hagrid, what's that you got by the fire?"

The half-giant jumped at Neville's sudden question. "Err, what?"

Curiosity distracting them from asking about the Stone, Harry and Hermione joined Neville and Ron crowding around the fire.

"Is that…" Hermione swallowed. "Is that a dragon egg?!"

"Ah, err…"

"And a Norwegian Ridbgeback to boot!" Ron caught the surprised looks on his friends' faces and shrugged. "I do pay attention whenever Charlie would talk about his job. Even if it feels like he can go on forever about it!"

Now that the secret was out, Hagrid seemed to relax a little more. "Won it from a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, I reckon."

Hermione eyed the house warily. "You're not thinking of raising it here, are you?"

But said wariness flew past Hagrid's head. "I've been doin' a bit o' reading—Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit—bit outta date, but it's got everythin'."

"You live in a wooden house, Hagrid." Harry tried to remind him.

"Nothin' I can't handle, don' yeh go worryin' over nothin'—"

"But Hagrid—!"

"—keep the egg in the fire, cause their mothers breathe on 'em to get 'em to hatch, and then—"

Neville blinked as Hagrid went to recite passages from the dragon breeding book to Harry and Hermione who were trying their best to dissuade him from the idea. "Think they'll be able to convince him?"

Ron snorted. "Doubt it. Hagrid's been wanting a dragon since forever. Who'd you think inspired Charlie to be a dragon tamer? I don't think Mum's forgiven Hagrid for that yet."

"He'll be in for a very rough time, then." Neville winced. "Dragons are difficult to manage, even as juveniles, and they grow very fast too."

"I know. Charlie's gotten some nasty burns because of them in the reserve. Why he still wants to work with them, I'll never know."

"…That's a surprise. I thought he'd have an easier time because of his dragon affinity."

Ron met Neville's confused gaze. "Dragon affinity? What's that?"

"Oh, you've never...I mean, I thought... since your brother's a dragon tamer." Neville cleared his throat. "Sorry. I thought you would have known. There are some wizardfolk said have a gift for handling dragons. Some would even say they have the power to communicate and even tame them, because they have the gift of their tongue. The ancient dragon language."

"You're referring to the legend of the dragon riders." Ron had heard the story before, one of his favorites from the ones his Mum used to tell him. "That…sounds nice, and I'm sure that Charlie would kill to have that ability. But it's just an old tale. I've never heard of any real-life wizards or witches being able to tame a dragon like that."

"True, the existence of the dragon tongue was never confirmed, but as for the dragon affinity…" Neville hesitated. "Well, after what happened in the war with your family, I can understand why you wouldn't have known."

Ron froze. "What do you mean?"

"It's thought to be the reason why their Essence of the Family has always been some sort of dragon." Neville said slowly. "Those who have had the strongest dragon affinity, they always came from the Most Ancient and Noble House of Prewett."

Dear Charlie,

Hope you're doing well in Romania. It's still a bit warm here in Scotland, but with the rainy season coming up soon, it probably won't stay that way past next week.

Anyway, I'm writing because there's something my friends and I need help with.

Before you go thinking about sending me a Howler, I didn't do anything. I mean, not yet. See, Hagrid's got himself a newly hatched dragon baby. A Norwegian Ridgeback. Said he won the egg from some stranger in a pub.

Problem is, he wants to raise it in his hut, and from the stories you've told me, I don't think that's a good idea. Harry, Hermione, Neville and I just want to get rid of it as soon as possible, but we don't want to get Hagrid in trouble. Think you and your friends from Romania can help?

Hope to hear from you within the week.

Don't let the dragons bite too hard.

Your little rascal,

Ron

As tempting as it is to ponder about the newest mystery that had been unceremoniously dumped onto his lap, Ron had something bigger to worry about. By the time Ron owled his brother, Norberta had already grown too long and heavy for Hagrid's dinner table.

Despite the four's best attempts to convince the groundskeeper to reconsider, Hagrid stubbornly held onto the dragon egg, and so Norberta still popped into the world right on schedule, turning their next several days to hell.

Hagrid was obviously wearing himself down while keeping up with the demands of the temperamental, demanding dragonling who was more than happy to bite whenever she felt like it. He kept to his hut since Norberta's hatching, and the rare times he would emerge, he was always coated with sweat, soot, a dusting of chicken feathers, and even occasional flecks of blood.

And while they weren't as hands-on with Norberta as Hagrid, the quartet was growing more and more visibly affected by the stress over being technical accomplices in rearing an illegally acquired dragon, with Hermione becoming more agitated and Neville, jumpier. And truth be told, even Ron felt the anxiety. Since he was determined for them to not get caught, he was particularly focused on remembering as much as he could about the events concerning the dragon.

Thank Merlin his deluminator helped him out once again. If there was one good thing about this, it was that Ron felt he was getting a hang of how the item worked. It seemed like whenever there was something he focused on that he wanted to remember about, the deluminator would warm up then give him flashes whenever he'd touch it.

Because of the flashes, he remembered how Malfoy found out about the dragon, the dragon biting his hand, then Harry and Hermione sneaking out with the invisibility cloak, the story of them carrying Norberta's crate all the way up the tower.

Thanks to his memories, Ron implemented additional strategies: suggesting to Hermione to learn the Locomotion charm, reminding his friends to remain hushed up about Norberta as much as possible, and only talking about her when they were at the safety of the Tower.

At the very least, not giving Malfoy the idea that they were up to something he could exploit. The Slytherin made good of his word, and had left the friends alone. But Ron wouldn't be surprised if the ferret would try to work around the deal for some sort of payback. And seeing Malfoy pinning them with glares bordering from angry to suspicious every now and then, Ron really didn't want to put that theory to the test.

Although that may also have something to do with Malfoy and his cronies being the target of a string of vicious pranks, from hair-switching to pimple breakouts to hopping around like bunnies, causing peals of laughter wherever they went. No one still knew who the perpetrators were, but Ron and his friends had a good idea who it was. And if all those pranks were the twins and Lee's idea of getting back at the berk for what he did to Neville, Ron was all for it, even if it would mean Malfoy becoming more vicious about his revenge come second year.

Still, Ron and his friends didn't want to risk getting caught by Malfoy or anybody for that matter, so they worked together to get rid of Norberta as soon as possible. And after pestering Hagrid for days on ideas on how to let Norberta go, Hagrid finally, tearfully, relented to Harry's suggestion to ask Charlie for help.

Three days have passed since then. Ron just went back from the Arithmancy study club meeting with Hermione to find Harry alone in the Common Room, working on homework.

Ron couldn't help but chuckle. "You doing OK, mate?"

Harry glared. "Don't act all smug just because you're already finished with yours."

"Well, we did tell you to finish it earlier." Hermione said primly. "So what are you working on?"

"Transfiguration. Need a three foot long essay on the importance and application of the Transfiguration alphabet." Harry answered glumly. "I still need a few more inches…"

Hermione and Ron traded looks before the former sighed. "All right, let me take a look at it…"

The three were in the process of editing Harry's essay when the portrait hole burst open and Neville came into view, pale and sweaty, a dirty white kerchief wrapped roughly around his right hand.

"Neville?" Hermione jumped up in alarm. "Where have you been? What happened?!"

"Hagrid's. Said he needed help with Norbert." Neville said haltingly, his expression a grimace of pain. "We were feeding it. But suddenly he—he bit me! That ungrateful, oversized lizard! We really need to get rid of it soon!"

Shite. Ron winced sympathetically, knowing just how much that bite hurt. Like in the first life, Hagrid owled them asking for help with Norbert since the dragon was being particularly moody that afternoon. But since Ron had his club activities, he hadn't been available and thus the responsibility fell onto Neville.

He was worried about this happening again, but he hoped his friend would have been able to avoid Norberta's fangs better than Ron did in the past.

Harry frowned worriedly at the sight of the wound. "You should have Madame Pomfrey look at it, Nev. I'm no Mediwizard, but that doesn't look good."

Neville shook his head quickly. "I—I can't! I could get Hagrid in trouble! I'm sure she'd be able to tell at once what this is!"

"But what if Norbert's fangs are poisonous?" Hermione said, shortly before Ron confirmed it. "They are. Charlie warned us about them. They are not as strong as the other dragons, so they have poisonous fangs to make up for it."

Neville paled even more at that and eyed his hand unsurely.

Harry set his face in determination. "That's it. If the wound really is poisonous, we have to take you to the Hospital Wing. Come on."

"But what about—?" Neville then blinked and gestured at the window. "Is that Hedwig?"

Distracted, Harry turned to see his snowy white owl tapping at the window. "It is! She must have Charlie's answer."

Ron opened the window, and Hedwig landed on the nearest table, leg stretched out expectantly.

"So, Charlie's friends will pick up Norbert this Saturday." Harry said after the group read Charlie's reply. "We got the invisibility cloak. It shouldn't be too difficult."

"But will it cover all four of us? And Norbert?" Hermione pointed out.

"Well…" Neville eyed his hand again. "Maybe not all of us will be able to go."

"Or maybe we can just be really careful while with the cloak. I'm sure it'll be able to cover the three of us plus that dragon," said Ron.

"We have time to plan what to do next." Harry turned to Neville. "We need to get Neville to the Hospital Wing first."

Neville tried to put it off, saying he could handle it. But come the next morning, the bite wound had taken a turn for the worse, as the hand had swollen twice its usual size and had taken a sickly shade of green. The friends had been so worried that Harry put his foot down and dragged Neville to the Hospital Wing himself. Neville had been nervous that he won't be able to cover up for Hagrid well, but Madame Pomfrey, though obviously suspicious, didn't press for details. Neville had to stay in the Hospital Wing for a while though, leaving Harry, Hermione and Ron to plan for Norberta's escape on their own.

"I hope Neville will be all right." Hermione whispered after Potions. "We should have taken him to Madame Pomfrey last night."

Ron scratched the back of his head. "What's done is done. Besides, we did try to convince him, remember? But Nev wouldn't hear of it!"

"Because he was scared he wouldn't be able to cover for Hagrid if Madame Pomfrey started asking questions," sighed Hermione. "Honestly, he's the one in danger of losing his hand, which shouldn't have happened in the first place if Hagrid wasn't being so stubborn!"

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You can't really blame Hagrid. He's in over his head, sure, but he really wanted a dragon."

"And then what? Hide it in his hut forever? Raise it in a castle full of children and without the resources to properly contain it?" Hermione blew a breath. "We really need to get Norbert out of here soon. But we do need to tell Hagrid first."

Harry agreed. "After my Quidditch practice and Ron's study club. We'll go down to Hagrid's hut and tell him."

"Will he let Norbert go though? You know how long it took us to convince him to let us write Charlie."

Ron scowled. "After what happened to Neville, that ought to convince him! Or do I have to get my hand bitten too? He has to admit at some point that he can't raise a bloody dra—"

But Harry immediately stepped in front of them with a sharp, "Shush! Both of you!" before turning his head as if looking around.

...Ah, bullocks! It was then that Ron remembered that he should have been more alert for eavesdroppers. Hermione too had seemingly caught on, as she noticeably stifferend before swivelling her head in frantic survey of the dimly lit stone corridors.

There was no one in sight, but Ron had the uneasy feeling that they weren't as alone as it appeared. And the thought amped up his anxiety three fold.

"Tomorrow night." He met Harry's and Hermione's gazes with restrained force. "This has to end tomorrow night."

Saturday night couldn't come fast enough for the three friends. Ron was tempted to tell the others to not look obviously stressed out, but he wasn't in the position to do so with the dark circles under his eyes and his frayed temper that he could barely keep under control by avoiding everyone else.

He didn't remember setting up Norberta's escape to be this stressful in the first life. Then again, he was too busy worrying about being one hand shorter instead. If this was what Harry and Hermione went through in the past, then he really was the absolute berk for getting his hand bitten and not being of any more help, on top of being the reason Malfoy found out about the tower rendezvous.

While I won't mind that ferret finding out this time around too as long as we don't get caught by Filch again. Let him have a night all by himself in the Forbidden Forest, see if that doesn't knock him down a few pegs.

The day was ironically very pleasant, considering the season, the sun lazily shining behind fluffy white clouds swaying in the cool spring breeze. But while everyone else was happily lounging about for the weekend, Harry, Ron and Hermione spent most of the day at the courtyard, perfecting their Locomotion charm on some of Hermione's heaviest books. Then, after another visit to Neville, who was out of it for the most part because of the medications he had to take for his hand, they joined the rest of their House mates for dinner then distracted themselves with Exploding Snap back at the Tower while waiting for everyone else to turn in for the night before springing into action.

Huddled under the cloak, the trio carefully made their way to Hagrid's hut, avoiding obstacles such as wandering patrols and Peeves playing tennis with one of the corridor walls along the way. They found the groundskeeper near the hut's entrance, securing ropes around a rattling wooden crate half his height and nearly as wide as his waist.

Hagrid's tears were overflowing when he saw them, and while Ron did feel a bit of sympathy for the man, he was more anxious to put this whole affair behind them as soon as possible.

"N—Norbert's inside. Just packed 'im in there with—with lots o' rats and some brandy fer the journey." Hagrid said gruffly. "Packed his teddy in too. In case he—in case he gets lonely."

Hermione patted Hagrid's arm comfortingly while Harry put on an obviously forced smile. "Great. I'm sure he appreciated that, Hagrid."

If by appreciate, you mean he's glad he has something to tear to shreds to alleviate the boredom. Ron winced when he heard growls and the sound of ripping cloth. Then, he really, really does.

After giving Hagrid another minute to say his tearful goodbyes, ("Bye-bye, Norbert! Mommy will never forget you!") the trio was left with the harrowing task of getting the crate up to the Astronomy Tower. Ron supposed he should be grateful that they managed to get the Locomotion charm right somehow. With the three of them, moving the crate wasn't as difficult as expected, although the real difficulty was in pacing their climb to avoid being seen.

Since Harry and Hermione had a hard time maintaining concentration type spells for such a prolonged time, Ron made it so that the two would take turns helping him maintain the spell, since he can hold it longer thanks to Charlie's old wand being more cooperative. Ron couldn't even imagine carrying Norberta's crate by hand up all these stairs (given how much the dragon would budge and bang against the wood), still amazed at the realization that it was exactly what Harry and Hermione had to do back then.

He supposed he should be grateful that the trip was uneventful, albeit they were a little out of breath from the effort of climbing the steps and casting the charm. Ron took a moment to straighten his robe, before turning to face the Astronomy Tower roof deck.

About ten minutes later, four adults came, mounted on brooms, none of which Ron ever met. Charlie wrote a bit about his friends, but never had the opportunity to introduce them to the Weasleys. So, Ron was just as taken aback as Harry and Hermione when the four got off their brooms in exuberant greeting.

"Top o' the evening to yeh lads and lassie!" One wizard, brown and burly with long, ash blond hair tied in a messy ponytail. "Right jolly good pleasure to meet ya! Name's Grady. Johannes Grady."

"Johanna Richter," said the tall, muscled woman next to Grady with cropped auburn hair and only one visible green eye, since the right one was under a simple black eye patch. "And unfortunate enough to share a first name with this blabbermouth."

"Ah, come on, love, that's no way to speak to yer boss!"

"Supervisor, not boss. Five years and you still can't remember the difference."

"Break it up, you two. Don't want to leave the kids with a bad impression, eh?" Said the gangly wizard from Johannes' left with brown hair styled in a wild crew cut and a short but hairy beard over thin lips. "Holter Montresor, at your service, monsieurs and mademoiselle." He said with a bow.

"And this hush puppy ove'ere," Johannes added while pulling over who appeared to be the shortest and youngest of the group, a bronze skinned young man with a pair of goggles over his bowl cut black hair and almond shaped brown eyes. "Our newest rookie, Mihal. Mihal, err...how do you say your surname again? Smith?"

"Schmidt." Mihal said flatly before giving the confused children the slightest of nods.

There was an awkward pause before Ron stepped forward with a hand out. "Err, nice to meet you too. I'm Ron, Charlie's brother."

"Right, I figured it would be yeh! Got that trademark Weasley hair right 'ere!" Johannes ruffled Ron's hair, to the boy's surprised squawk, while they shook hands. "Charlie's talked a lot 'bout you, ya little troublemaker! Plannin' to give yer brother a run for his money, he always said."

"I'm not that bad!" Ron rolled his eyes. "Anyway, there's the bloody beast inside the crate, and these are my friends, who helped me bring it up."

"I'm Harry." Harry introduced himself before Hermione nodded. "Hermione."

"Right, lovelies. So, is that there the dragon we gotta smuggle out of 'ere?" Grady whistled at the growls and jerking coming from the crate. "Wow, ain't this a docile juvie, eh? Know what kind o' dragon it is?"

"Hagrid said it was a Norwegian Ridgeback," said Ron.

Richter raised a brow. "And he managed to keep it under wraps for days now? I don't know whether to be impressed or exasperated! Ridgebacks are notoriously difficult to raise, especially in small, contained places like Hogwarts."

"Hagrid kept him locked in his hut, but Hogwarts itself isn't that small." Hermione pointed out, but the older woman shook her head. "Take it from a tamer, hun. For a dragon, this here school is a tiny playpen."

Harry eyed the adults and then the brooms. "So, how are you going to lift it out of here? You can carry it on your brooms?"

"Bien sûr!" Montresor showed Harry a coil of sturdy looking rope. "We got ropes and harnesses; and Mihal here can cast a good Disillusionment Charm. N'est-ce pas, Mihal?"

Schmidt only stared at Montresor blandly in reply.

"We've been doing this sort of thing before you learned how to walk, Harry." Richter said with a confident smile. "You think the reserve would send us if we didn't know how to do our jobs?"

Harry blushed. "Err, sorry, it's not that I think you couldn't—"

"Relax, would ya?" Grady ruffled Harry's hair. "You pups worked hard until now! Leave the rest to us, eh?"

Ron was surprised not just by their friendliness but also how they didn't either recognize or care that this Harry was the Harry Potter. But he was also grateful for it, since it meant that Norberta can be taken away without other distractions. Even if the group was rather odd, from Grady's forwardness and Schmidt barely uttering a word, to Ricther being brasher and brawnier than any woman he had ever met and Montresor looking to the Forbidden Forest's direction as if there was something utterly fascinating about it.

Ron would later find out from Grady, it was the first time Montresor—a French native who just joined the dragon reserve two years ago—had ever been to Hogwarts. In fact, none of the four were Hogwarts graduates or even from Britain.

The four dragon tamers quickly set the ropes and harnesses up before carefully lifting the crate with their brooms, and with a goodbye ("Nice to meet you, youngins!" Grady waved. "Hope we get to chat a little more in the future!"), the tamers took off for the long trip back to Romania.

The three students stayed at the tower, watching until the crate and tamers faded into mere specks in the sky before making their own escape. Harry didn't forget the cloak this time, so they managed to sneak under it on their way back to the Tower, something Ron was relieved they managed to do.

Although some things, it looked like, were never going to change.

"Student out of bed! Student out of bed!" Filch announced, dragging along a very familiar blond boy.

"Unhand me, you ruffian!" Malfoy scowled as he tried to wrench free from the caretaker's grasp. From below him, Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, hissed angrily.

"Don't you think you can run from me, you naughty rascal! Sneakin' round the halls past curfew. You're going to get in trouble for this, you ought to!"

"You don't understand! Potter—Potter and his friends! They're planning something! I heard them—"

Filch sneered. "If they are doing some mischief, I'll deal with 'em after I'm done with you."

"Why, you insufferable, miserable—ARGH! Don't bite me, you stupid cat!"

Ron watched as Filch, Malfoy and Mrs. Norris walked past. "So Malfoy did hear us yesterday! Shite, I knew we should have been more careful!"

"Good thing we have the cloak," Harry waved the material for emphasis. "Who knows what would have happened if we didn't."

"At least, we managed to help Norbert escape. And Malfoy could get detention too." Hermione sighed. "I could sing!"

Ron understood the feeling, the effect of the euphoria of success and the relief of finally getting rid of that bloody dragon. And, as he stepped into the portrait hole with his friends, with Harry folding the cloak away into his jacket, he was really looking forward to sleeping the last dregs of his stress away and remembering what it was like to have a peaceful life.

Until he saw a furious Professor McGonagall by the Common Room fireplace.

"Where have you three been?"

He felt his heart drop to his feet.

Oh. Fuck. Me. Sideways.

Come now, you really didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you?

So what do you think is that wand wood that called out to Ron the strongest? I'm sure I dropped a good number of hints. And so, after all that effort, our trio still got caught. What does this mean for the next chapter? We'll just have to wait and see!

Reviews are golden, as always, and I would like to thank everyone who took the time to comment on TBA. Also a huge thank you to those still following this story and adding it to their favorites/bookmarks! If you think there's anything I need to correct or for any other suggestions, feel free to let me know! I enjoy a good discussion.

And, finally, the AO3 crosspost has now officially caught up with the FF.net version!  Hurray! Now you can read the next chapters in whichever of the two you prefer.

See you in the next one!

GLOSSARY [French]:

Bien sûr: Of course.

N'est-ce pas: Isn't that right?

UP NEXT:
Oh no! Harry, Ron and Hermione are caught! How will the Gryffindor house react to the consequences of this blunder? How did they even get caught in the first place? And a detention in the Forbidden Forest? Wonder if Ron will find anything interesting there...

Chapter Text

I'm alive, apparently. And I can't believe I need to do this again but apparently another lengthy author's note is in order.

First off, I'd like to apologize again for the long delay in the updates for TBA (and my fanfic projects in general). I haven't been in a good place mentally and emotionally for a while now because of the pandemic and whatnot. Then, I've been second guessing myself quite a bit lately with the way the story is going, because of the feedback I've been getting that TBA is just recycling/forcing old plot lines from the books (like the troll and Norberta).

So I had to look deep into myself and what I'm writing, and to find the strength to commit to my work no matter the criticism I'll get in the future. Maybe someday I'll look back and think, "I can't believe I thought it would be a good idea to write this!" But for now this is the best I can do, and for the rest of TBA's run, I hope it will be enough for my readers. To those who have supported me, nudged me to become better, and who still want to stay with me until the end (and seven books is LONG!), you are amazing beyond words.

My utmost gratitude to my dear beta, ac nelli, for their hard work and their support. Thank you also to the kind words of my readers, especially general-thinks, PaintfullAMT23, Clarroxl, and BiiaCrvlh. Hippothestrowl, for lighting my arse with their reviews, thank you also. I hope you keep what I told you in mind. :)

And for London Knight's Brit-picking, because I said time and again, I'm not British, so I wouldn't know about cultural nuances no matter how much research I do. Because research doesn't beat experience. From my experience, school days would take a break on Christmas week (so that's December 20), and resume on the first week of January (the weekday after January 1). Just so you know.

Right, enough of that shite.

Happy Halloween!

Chapter Fifteen:

Golden Eyes

Dear Ginny,

I'm sorry I haven't written to you in a while. Things have been a bit hectic here at Hogwarts, but you can always owl me whenever you feel like it. Errol, that lazy ball of feathers, needs the exercise, and it's always nice to hear from home. And I hope you're not too lonely without having other kids around to play with, since the Fawcetts and Lovegoods away and all.

Thanks for the new gloves you sent for my birthday present, by the way. Mum mentioned in her card that you helped knit those for me.

Percy, Fred and George planned a small party for me at the Tower, and I have to admit, they really surprised me! Almost all the Gryffindors were there, and the twins even managed to sneak this big chocolate cake into the Common Room! They still won't tell me how they did it. But between you and me, I don't think they have to. Remember our little secret?

Now here comes the hard part of this letter. I wish I could just write about the good things, Ginny. But if you're going to find out about this, I'd rather you hear it from me. See, your idiot brother botched up. Big time. We—Harry, Hermione and I—got caught out of bed past curfew two days ago, and boy did we get it! As if getting yelled at and detention weren't already bad enough, we also lost Gryffindor 50 points. Each. 150 points in one night. Makes my gut twist just writing that down.

Of course, everyone's right mad at us for it. Can't really blame them, after being so close to winning the House Cup this year. I don't know if Mum and Dad will find out about it, but I'm ready for that Howler just in case. What I want you to know is that I didn't do it for anything stupid. I didn't even do it for me. I wish I could tell you why I snuck out during curfew, but that's not my story to tell. Maybe someday, I'll be able to.

All I can do right now is try to win back all those points I've lost. I'm sure things will die down eventually, but hopefully putting Gryffindor back in the lead will help make the dust settle sooner.

Owl you soon, little spitfire. Don't let the gnomes bite too hard! See you this summer!

Love,

Ron

The Room of Requirement was an amazing place, even for someone born and raised surrounded by magic.

The spacious room was transformed into something closely resembling the Burrow living room, with a weathered wooden floor, a cozy stone and mortar fireplace roaring across a downy, old couch, a couple of beanbags and a few throw pillows on top of a patterned rectangular rug with red and green squares. There, Ron sat on the floor in one of the beanbag chairs, Second Chance open on the coffee table in front of him, his expression a cross between frustrated and pensive.

Three days have already passed since he, Harry and Hermione were caught by McGonagall, but he could still hear her furious tirade ringing in his ears, the memory of her anger still enough to make his gut churn painfully. The old witch's face was as red as a tomato, her entire frame so stiff and board-like it looked ready to shatter (or explode) at any moment. Ron was half-certain he could hear her magic crackling and sizzling at the sheer force of her fury as she gave them a thorough tongue lashing that left their House a hundred and fifty points shorter, Hermione quivering in tears, and Harry pale, flabbergasted and almost terrified.

"To think you three are such brilliant, promising students! Do you think that gives you the right to wander around without regard for the school rules? I never thought you would disappoint me to this extent, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger! Absolutely disappointed!"

McGonagall might as well have stabbed Hermione's heart with a rusty knife, Ron thought at the time. Out of all the Professors, it was McGonagall who Hermione always admired the most, and to hear from the woman herself how much Hermione disappointed her must feel devastating.

But no matter how Hermione or any of them felt at the time, none of them spoke of the real reason they were out during curfew, which Ron felt in hindsight they probably should have. As much as he cared about Hagrid, the half-giant really fucked them over with Norberta's situation, and it miffed Ron off that the man could get away with it while he and his friends had to suffer for his mistakes.

Much like in the old life, the Gryffindors reacted to the loss of House points with chilling scorn and disdain. Cold shoulders, dark stares, and pointed murmurs followed the trio wherever they went, with some even vocally ribbing them for costing their House their best chance to win the House Cup. Even their fellow First Year House mates, except for Neville, gave them a wide berth, though not really out of spite, and more of them not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

He supposed he should be grateful that Harry didn't have to deal with tense dormmates because of this mess, since Seamus was pretty laidback about the whole thing and Dean found the whole cold shoulder treatment absolutely ridiculous.

Still, the event left Harry and Hermione quite traumatized, to the point that they just wanted to keep their heads down and survive the year without getting into any more trouble, including investigating the Stone. Ron understood, as he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't affected by all this. That Percy and the twins seemingly avoiding him bothered Ron much more than he was letting on…

Harry and Hermione must have hearts of saints, because, unlike them, Ron was far from forgiving Hagrid for forcing them into this situation. And while his anger towards Hagrid had cooled somewhat these past few days, he still kept his distance just in case he'll end up saying or doing something he'll regret.

But more so than with Hagrid, Ron was furious with himself.

His friends may have felt that they had done the best they could considering the circumstances, but bloody hell, they're just kids! He was supposed to be an adult despite being stuck in a scrawny twelve-year-old's body, not an actual tot who has no mind for tactics or strategy!

So many questions flooded Ron's mind when he was given the chance to think about it: How did they get caught in the first place? Did someone other than Malfoy overhear them last Saturday? Why hadn't they been more forceful in convincing Hagrid to let Norberta go sooner? Why didn't they involve Hagrid in the actual escape plan since it had been his bloody fault they had to smuggle a dragon out in the first place? Why did Ron think that sneaking the dragon out on their own was a brilliant idea? He had time to think of a better plan, hadn't he?

Because I thought the cloak was the only reason the first time this happened went wrong. Because I thought I could handle it. Ron massaged his temples with a growl. Well, fantastic job, you dumb fuck! If you just went straight to Dumbledore, then maybe none of this shite would have happened!

It was in hindsight that the idea of going to Dumbledore came to him, and logically speaking, it would have been the best solution. Unlike with McGonagall, Ron was sure Dumbledore would do his best to send the dragon away while keeping Hagrid out of trouble, given how fond the latter was of the half-giant. And since Harry, Hermione and Neville were still at the point where they had complete faith that Dumbledore can pull miracles out of his arse, Ron knew he would have been able to convince them to follow that plan.

So why didn't he?

"I love solving puzzles." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in Ron's memory. "That's what makes you all the more interesting."

The redhead rested his head onto his hands. Fucking Dumbledore…

Since the incident with the mirror, Ron had been doing his best to avoid any interaction with the old wizard, which wasn't hard because Dumbledore is Headmaster and should have more to do than fascinate over the puzzle he perceived Ron was. However, in his bid to avoid the man, Ron had overlooked how easier and far more practical it would have been if they just told Dumbledore about Norberta. In his rashness, he let his fear and anxiety blind him from the better play.

And what kind of chess player does that?

A loser, that's who. Ron scowled, pressing his thumb between his eyebrows. "Chess is about intimidation as much as it is about strategy," grandpa used to say.

Septimus Weasley's lessons, seemingly from long ago, came rushing into his mind.

"The first one to fear for his King will be the one to lose."

"One piece, one move, can change the game to a mate or victory."

Ron clenched his fist before flipping Second Chance again.

I've been too lax.

He scratched his quil on the pages.

I let my foreknowledge get to my head. In my fear to change the future, I became too passive.

If we were back in the war, all of my friends would have been dead.

The image of Harry, lying face up with glasses askew, eyes blank to the heavens, flashed in Ron's mind. The boy crushed his quill in his hands.

I won't let that happen. No more thinking like a child, Ronald. Put that chess player brain of yours to good use.

There were a few more months before the end of the school year, and the inevitable confrontation with Quirrell. He hadn't been able to utilize Dumbledore's help with Norberta, but could he do so with Voldemort's puppet?

Easier said than done. Ron tapped his newly acquired replacement quill (thank you, Room of Requirement) on the encircled "Quirrell" on Second Chance. I can't just go to Dumbledore and tell him about Quirrell's possession. I could tell them to rip the turban off—it's all the proof I'll need—but that'll create more questions, like how did I find out about that in the first place? And is the attention I'll get after that worth it?

Ron slapped himself. Literally. To hell with that! No more worrying about getting even more noticed! If this is the best course of action, by Merlin, Ronald, you will see it through!

Because indeed it was. If Quirrell would somehow be found out before the end of the year, then Harry and his friends won't have to go through the traps guarding the Stone. What's the harm in not letting Harry meet Voldemort (or the waif of the bastard) this year as scheduled? The horror of facing the Basilisk and the Horcrux Riddle are to come in Second Year anyway.

Speaking of that motherfucking diary… Ron shook his head. I hate to admit it, but I'll have to worry about that some other time. Back to Quirrell, there has to be a way for me to give that information to Dumbledore without it seemingly coming out of nowhere. Let's see what else I can remember about that phoney. Acts cowardly but is actually a snake in the grass. Knows a bit of dark magic, too, I reckon. The one who killed and fed off those unicorns, the heartless arsehole. And what else? What else that I can use…?

A few seconds later, the telltale warmth in his pocket was back, and Ron's hand went for the Deluminator. Light and color bloomed quickly before his blue eyes.

..."Can you believe that the twins actually have been pelting snowballs on You-Know-Who this whole time? Bloody hell, just thinking about it makes my skin crawl!"

Eleven-year-old Hermione chewed her bottom lip. "Really frightening when you think about it. Who would have suspected Professor Quirrell having such a secret, after all. Possessed by You-Know-Who all this time. That must have required some terrible dark magic!"

"I reckon it's some forbidden life and death magic stuff, like the ones the Ancient Egyptians used to guard their tombs with. Bill told us a few stories back when he was still researching about Curse Breakers." Ron shuddered. "They can get really nasty, making you grow extra heads or your skin melt off."

"Disgusting!"

"The twins thought it was wicked."

"I'd expect." Hermione said dryly. "Although regarding Quirrell, now that I think about it, there were signs all around that he was actually possessed. Hindsight really is 20/20!"

"What's this about a 20?"

"Something to do with vision. I'll explain later." The bushy haired girl waved her hand dismissively. "Anyway, I mean, when you really think about it, the smell coming off of his turban was too strong to be just garlic. And didn't Harry mention he heard Quirrell talking to someone? Isn't it odd that he couldn't hear who it was, but he could hear Quirrell clearly? I reckon that's how Snape figured out there was something wrong with Quirrell in the first place!"

"Because he's gone looney, talking to himself all of a sudden?"

"Along with other small clues, yes," said Hermione. "Snape was most likely onto Quirrell when Harry saw them together after the match! Maybe even before then."

"Before then? You mean during Halloween?" Ron's eyes sharpened. "Maybe that's why he got bitten by Fluffy! He was trying to stop Quirrell! Bloody hell, now that I didn't see coming!"

"Neither did I. It's jus so easy to believe that Snape was the bad guy. He certainly didn't help to lessen the image."

Ron made a face. "Even after knowing all this, he's still a greasy, bitter bat to me."

"We're just speculating, Ron."

The red head shrugged. "Since most of the speculation came from you, chances are they're right. I mean, it's you, Hermione. You get stuff right, and you're bloody brilliant at it."

Hermione's face turned pink. "Th—thank you, Ron."

"...Why are you looking at me like that? Shite, don't tell me I have something on my nose again!"

… That was longer than expected. Ron thought after the memory ended. And I barely remember that even happened. This confirms it: this Deluminator can retrieve memories, but it's something connected whatever it is I'm really focused about. Then once it warms up, I only need to grab it to get the vision. Wicked! With this, I'll be able to remember things that can help me in the future! And that vision gave me a few ideas I'll need to write down…

Dear Ron,

We know it's rather late, but Happy Birthday!

Harry's written to us all about the party you've had in Gryffindor tower. I hope you had a splendid time with your friends. I remember how much fun the parties we used to throw in the Tower were. James and I would find a way to sneak in a bit of Butterbeer and Firewhiskey to make things livelier. Used to always drive Lily bonkers, the mess we made.

More because we had to clean up after the ungrateful berks—

Amazing times, really! I'll tell you all about them next time! Including that one when we spiked Remus' pumpkin juice—

Anyway, Ron—

And then he got so drunk he tried flirting with—

T=========

=I====s=======f=======w========

A==========

=o=====ie=======g==========ny====L======

=======J============R============

I'm sorry for the messy start, Ron. Don't worry, Sirius has foregone all writing privileges until he learns to behave himself. Where were we?

Sirius' rehabilitation is going really well. He's gained more weight and is able to walk around for longer periods. Soon, he'll only have to go to St. Mungo's once a month, something I'm not entirely sure whether the staff is happy or sad about. Sirius is a downright nightmare as a patient, I would know, but I think a few Mediwitches there would miss having him around. Sirius always had been the charmer.

We'll be going to Gringotts later this week on some business. More importantly, we'll finally get Sirius a new wand. Thank Merlin for that. He's been whining my ear off for weeks about getting him one.

Sorry, Sirius tried to steal the quill again. And yes, he was whining. Exponentially. No matter what he will write later insisting otherwise.

Although he's also worrying about something more than his wand. To be honest, I am too. In his more recent letters, Harry's tone changed. Back then we could practically feel his excitement leaping out of the parchment. But some days ago, he sounded off. We wrote to him asking if anything was wrong, but he insisted that he's fine.

Which Sirius and I can tell is not true.

Hullo, Ron, it's Sirius. Yes, Remus let me have the quill again. And no, I do not whine.

About Harry, well, Remus said that we should give him space and let him open up to us on his own. But we're just really worried. The shift in his letters was so bizarre we can't help it. Before, it was as if there wasn't enough parchment to write about Hogwarts and you lot, but now, everything is just so succinct? Short, I mean? He won't say anything, but we can tell he's upset somehow. And, it bothers us that we can't help him. We, I, haven't done anything for him for the last ten years, and I'm his Godfather for ==== Merlin's sake!

What Sirius is trying to say, Ron, is that if you need someone to talk, or write to, we're here. We know that we haven't known each other for very long, but if there is any way we can help, let us know. We're just an owl away.

Just let Harry know that Remus and I are here for him. For all of you.

Keep in touch, Ron. And thank you as always for your letters.

Take care!

Sirius and Remus

It was a little past seven in the evening when Ron ran into Harry, who had just come from the Owlery. It made Ron's gut clench to see his best friend's slumped shoulders and downcast, furtive glances, but the slight smile on Harry's face told Ron that the letter he was holding close to his chest was most likely from Sirius and Remus. It was the only thing that could make him smile lately.

"Ron?" Harry blinked in surprise upon seeing the red head. "You don't have any study clubs today?"

"Professor Durand dismissed us earlier. Gives us more time to work on our bloody charts." Ron waved some sheets of parchment. "What about you? Done with Quidditch practice?"

"Cancelled. Oliver had detention because he somehow ran into Snape while arguing with Flint about field bookings."

Ron mirrored Harry's grimace. "Rotten luck, that is." But despite Harry's short nod, the relief is his green eyes was so palpable Ron couldn't help but prompt. "The Quidditch team still giving you grief about what happened?"

Harry flushed with his eyes to the floor. "Err, it's not that bad. I've had it worse back at Privet Drive with Dudley's gang. At least they're not outright pranking or making fun of me. Although, Oliver's still miffed for thinking I ought to leave the team."

Ron exhaled noisily. "Give it a bit more time, Harry. This will blow over soon and everyone will be back to normal."

"I just wish that 'soon' would come faster." Harry fidgeted with the letter in his hands. "150 points gone in one night, and it's almost the end of the year! How can I make up for all those lost points in such a short time?"

"...We'll just do what we can, I reckon." Ron pointed out. "Besides, it's not like it's completely our fault it happened."

"That's...true." Harry frowned. "I just wish I knew how Professor McGonagall found out! I know it's been days, but I still can't figure it out! It's so frustrating! Just where did we go wrong?"

The two boys had talked about this topic in length ever since they got caught that terrible night. They could clearly tell that someone tipped McGonagall off with the way she had been in the right place at the right time, as if expecting them.

The reason they got caught last time was because of Ron leaving Charlie's letter in the book that Malfoy "borrowed" from him while Ron was sick in the hospital wing. Then he tried to tip off McGonagall on Harry and Hermione, only it backfired and got him detention instead. But this time around, Malfoy left their little group alone, and Neville never mentioned the blonde arse coming to pester him while he had been sick.

Still, I'm not surprised Malfoy wouldn't try to find some way to make our lives miserable after what happened last time. Too bad for him that he's not that good at being sneaky just still leaves the question of how he and McGonagall found out about our plan though. I reckon Malfoy did hear us talk about the dragon last week in the hallway, but from the way we got caught, I'm sure he didn't go to her this time. And since I'm also sure that we never talked about Norberta outside the Common Room other than that one time, that only leaves…

It was a troubling thought that Ron hadn't shared with Harry, and one he had hoped was off the mark. Not to say that he wanted Harry to continue seeing Gryffindors as these courageous knights who can do no wrong, but if Ron was right, finding out that one of their own actually got them into trouble, and had the audacity to slink into the shadows like a cowardly rat…

"If it isn't Potter and Weasley."

Two older students were right at Harry and Ron's path, one was tawny haired, long nosed and tall while the other, a bit shorter and thinner with thick, dark hair so fluffed up it resembled a Pygmy Puff. The way they stared at him and Harry made the hairs at the back of Ron's neck stand.

"You lot need something?" Ron asked, curtly.

The taller of the two older students sneered. "Curtis and I," He gestured at the shorter wizard next to him, "Just came from the Great Hall after supper. What about you two? Still looking to lose us more House points?"

Harry flinched while Ron growled. "I don't know what you berks were expecting, but we don't make a habit of losing House points. We were just on our way to supper."

"Right, of course you were," said Curtis in such a condescending tone, Ron was hard-pressed not to start throwing hexes.

"What the hell is your—? You know what, sod off." Ron nodded at Harry. "Come on, mate. There are a couple of treacle tarts in the Hall with our names on it."

Harry made to follow after a stiff nod when the tawny haired student spoke again. "You ought to choose your mates better, Potter. Hanging out with a troublemaker like Weasley, it's not going to do you any good in the end."

Ron really wanted to keep going but Harry for some reason decided to skid into a violent halt.

"The acting like an innocent smartarse is not going to work on me, Weasley. Everyone's got you pegged for a teacher's pet, but we know better. Cut from the same cloth as those terror twins, you had to go and lose us our best chance at winning the Cup."

Now that made Ron spin around. "Is this what this is about? You don't have the balls to go after the twins, so you're going after me? Who the fu—bloody hell are you even?"

Curtis tutted. "A foul mouth phoney to boot. Really take after those two, eh, Towler?"

Towler? Ron frowned. Why does that name sound familiar?

"A bit of friendly advice from someone who has a few years ahead of you, Potter." Towler went on. "The sort like Weasley, they're the type to make you think they're all smart, funny and brilliant. But they're only like that to folks they like. Social climbers, attention seeking toerags. Just like a few folks I know."

That's it. The bastards could insult him all they wanted, but even if they could argue that the twins deserved it, no one can trash talk Ron's brothers to his face and think they can get away with it. Before Ron could move though, Harry's hand was on his wrist, clamping it down before the red head could draw his wand.

"Towler, Curtis, wasn't it?" The younger boy's tone was soft, but it had enough power to send chills down Ron's spine . "You two remind me of an unpleasant bloke I met on the train ride to Hogwarts. Said I can do better than have Ron as my friend. But I wasn't able to tell him what I really wanted to say at the time, so I'll tell you."

"What?"

"You can take your 'friendly advice' and shove it up your arse where it belongs." Harry's eyes glowed an Avada Kedavra green. "Because Ron's a better sort than you lot can ever be if you can't pick on someone your own size."

Curtis sputtered while Towler's pale face turned into an ugly shade of purplish red. "Weasley, a better sort? That idiot who dragged you around past curfew only to get caught and lose us loads of points? You're mental!"

"I was not dragged around like a bloody toy, Towler. You don't even know the whole story. You don't know anything!"

"Plenty enough to know that we're right all long." Curtis said heatedly. "Just you wait, Potter. You're going to regret being friends with that Weasley!"

It was Ron's turn to block Harry from grabbing his wand. "You know, now that you mention it, I wonder, how do you know that the reason we lost points was because of being out after curfew?"

That gave Towler pause. "Wha—? Isn't it obvious? What else could it be?"

"A load of other things. Things that could be just as likely as us staying out after curfew. But you sounded so sure a while ago." Ron's gaze sharpened. "As if you already knew."

Because be it the past or the present, while everyone knew about the lost points, no one actually knew why they had lost those points. Even years later, what all the other Lions had were mere theories. Some had been close to the truth, yes but none of them had ever spoke about their speculations with such confidence as if it were a fact.

That was, until now.

Ron heard Harry hiss, "It was you?" from over his shoulder, but he kept his gaze on Towler and Curtis, the latter looking flustered while the former, flat-faced save for his scorching brown eyes.

"Is that how you want to play it, Weasley?" Towler bit out scathingly. "Throwing accusations around because you're losing face? And wouldn't that be the right thing to do? If you really were out during curfew, it's only right that someone ought to teach you what you've done wrong."

"Right, because ratting us out to a teacher is the better way, instead of going to the Prefects first."

Curtis rolled his eyes. "The Gryffindor Prefect is your brother. We're not stupid enough to not see the bias."

Ron sneered. "But you're stupid enough to prove me right, you dumb fuck."

Curtis' face turned into a darker shade of red, and Towler's entire frame tensed, looking like a bull ready to charge. "Why, you pompous little gi—"

"What is going on here?"

Ron's eyes widened. ...Speak of the bloody devil.

Percy appeared from behind Curtis and Towler as if he apparated into view, his brows furrowed.

"W—Weasley? What are you doing here?"

"I was on my way back to the Tower, much like how you lot are supposed to." Percy eyed Ron. "Unless you haven't had your supper yet."

"No, we haven't." Ron answered Percy's unasked question. "Harry and I had our club, err, club and Quidditch, I mean. We were just on our way."

"...We were just talking." Towler answered stiffly, making Curtis nod frantically.

"Talking?" Percy raised a brow. "I did not realize that talking constituted standing in the middle of the hall, blocking the way of students barely half your size while no one else was around."

"W—We're not lying, Weasley—"

"That's Prefect Weasley to you, Thomas Curtis!"

"—Prefect Weasley. We're just...talking. It's not like we have our wands drawn or anything."

"Then from what I can tell, this...conversation is already over, correct?"

Curtis and Towler traded glances before nodding and turning away without a word. The two were a good distance away when Percy called again. "One more thing."

The pair paused but only Curtis turned around again.

"If you have a problem with Fred and George, then take it up to Fred and George." Percy clapped a hand on Ron's shoulder, his words cold enough to freeze Fiendfyre. "And not on our little brother or on any of his friends instead."

Ron felt his cheeks heat up, equally embarrassed and touched at Percy's unexpected gesture.

"...Are you threatening us, Prefect Weasley?"

"Of course not." Percy pushed his glasses up his nose. "Just friendly advice, is all."

Towler's jaw shut with an audible click before he and Curtis continued their walk back to Gryffindor Tower, and it was after they were out of earshot that Ron let himself relax. "Thanks, Percy."

Percy exhaled with an audible sigh. "Really, what is it with you getting into such troublesome situations? Are you trying to prove Charlie right?"

"Oi, we were minding our own business! They're the ones who suddenly went all up in our faces acting like massive gits!"

"Language, Ron." Percy sighed, looking tired. "And I'm not saying that it was your fault. Just that trouble seems to find you so easily."

"Sorry about that," said Harry. The Prefect shook his head in response. "It's only right for a Prefect to step in on such situations. Anyway, is it all right for me to talk with Ron for a bit? It won't take too long."

Ron raised a confused brow while Harry nodded. "I'll see you in the Great Hall then."

He watched Harry move a good distance away before turning to Percy. "If you're here to finally scold me after weeks of holding it in, can you not? I've already heard of how stupid I've been from everyone else so many times now."

Percy looked taken aback. "You thought I wanted to talk to you just because of that?"

"...You mean, you weren't going to?" Percy's expression morphed into something so blatantly hurt that it made Ron's gut twist. "S-Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't be. I suppose it's my fault you'd make that assumption, and to be honest, I had a half-mind to."

The hesitant pause in the end poked at Ron's curiosity. "Why didn't you?"

Percy removed his glasses to massage his nose bridge. "You're right, for one thing. I've seen you getting so much flak from not just the Gryffindors, but also the other Houses. Too much flak, if you ask me. I've come to realize that adding to that would be counterproductive. Also," he cleared his throat. "It's...I can understand the frustration, but taking it out on you is utterly ridiculous!"

"Losing a hundred fifty points is ridiculous too."

"And treating you like a pariah is helping the situation,how exactly? Besides, all that talk about you being a troublemaker or a bighead is honestly getting on our nerves! You're a lot of things, Ronnie, but you're not the type to get into trouble just because!"

"...So you're not angry?"

"I'm troubled by the lost points and putting our chance of winning the House Cup in jeopardy, yes. But angry? Preposterous!" Percy put his glasses back on. "I'd rather spend my time winning whatever points I can before the finals instead of all but outright bullying three children who made a mistake!"

Ron couldn't deny the warm bubbling of hope stirring in his chest. "But you've been avoiding me all this time. You, Fred and George."

Percy's face twisted in disbelief. "Avoiding you? You're not around enough for us to even try to! Even the twins barely have an idea where you are, and they practically have eyes and ears all over the school, for some reason!"

Now that Ron thought about it, he had been keeping himself busy, leaving the Tower only to have meals, attend classes and study in the Library, Room of Requirement or the clubs until it was time to return and sleep, barely talking to anyone but his friends.

Instead of his brothers avoiding him, maybe it had been the other way around? Didn't Harry mention before that the twins were some of the few Gryffindors other than Neville who hadn't been giving him a hard time?

"Looks like I was worried for nothing." A shite eating grin glowed on Ron's face. "Thanks, Percy. I'll go look for the twins later."

"You'd better. Last I heard, those two were becoming desperate enough to plan an ambush just to get a hold of you."

I imagine they've been trying to look for me with the map. But since I've been in the Room of Requirement a lot, they wouldn't have been able to find me easily. Ron then remembered to ask. "You said something about Towler and Curtis having something against the twins earlier?"

Percy's slight smile fell. "Ah, that's...quite a story. Towler and Curtis are in the same year as Fred and George, and truth be told, they actually got on pretty well at first. But as time went on, they drifted apart, and the pranks the twins would pull—some of which involved Towler and Curtis, I'm sure—didn't help matters."

"Fred and George can go a bit too far with their jokes…"

"But I don't think it's just about that. I'd go as far as to wager that a huge part of it is because..." Percy adjusted his glasses again. "Anyway, whatever their reasons, that doesn't give them the right to take their anger out on you or your friends."

"I wish I knew what brought that on. I don't even know the bloke, let alone actually talked to him or anything." It was even stranger that in the past, Ron barely remembered Towler or Curtis, since they left him alone throughout his Hogwarts years. What caused that to change?

Fucking time travel and its fucking ripple effect bollocks.

"I shouldn't keep you any longer though, Ron. You still haven't had supper, right?"

Ron nodded. "You going up the Tower now?"

"After a quick trip to the library." Percy ruffled Ron's hair. "Don't let those lost points get you down so much. And let me know if those two try to stir trouble again."

"Only if you promise not to let the twins know about it." Ron rolled his eyes at Percy's disapproving look. "You said it yourself, they haven't been getting along for a while now. We don't need to make it worse. Or give the twins an excuse to."

"You know they'll be furious if they find out I didn't tell them about this."

Ron waved his hand. "Come off it. Besides, I can handle those two."

Percy sighed. "Fine. But you will tell me if they start bothering you again."

"...All right, all right. Merlin, you're starting to sound just like Mum!"

Dear Sirius and Remus,

Thanks for the birthday gifts. The coin purse was a treat enough, but the money for a new pet really took the cake for me! I'm not really looking into getting a new one at the moment, but I know how to put it to good use.

I'm glad Sirius' rehabilitation is going well, although I'm not surprised that Sirius is becoming known for both being a cranky patient andis charming the mediwitches. He comes off as the type. I mean it in a good way, though, Sirius.

You also mentioned that you noticed Harry coming off as odd in your recent letters from him. He's fine for the most part, but something happened that made us lose loads of house points and getting detention. I can't give you the details, but it's not because we were up to any mischief on purpose. I swear. It's a bit complicated, but it was for a good cause.

Problem is, besides getting caught, the other Gryffindors are frankly being arses about the whole thing. I get that winning the Cup is important, but just because we lost some points doesn't give them the right to treat us like shite, I reckon. Still, Harry's taking what's happened really to heart , but there's more to it than just us not getting the Cup.

Anyway, hope to hear from you soon! And hope Sirius' recovery goes smoothly.

Write to you soon!

Ron

PS: I don't know if it's right for me to tell you all that. It's just that I don't want to see Harry so down anymore. I don't think there's anything more I can do, but if anyone can help him through this, make him believe that it'll be OK, I'll bet all my money it'll be you two. I've seen how Harry was with you, and you're probably the closest thing to a real family he's ever had.

The hour of detention was nigh.

Ron stood waiting by the castle entrance with Harry, Hermione, Malfoy and a Filch, who was grinning from ear to ear, eyes glinting maliciously under the light of his rusty lamp.

"You kids are gonna get it now," sneered the vile caretaker. "Detention in the Forest. Gonna be a good night for you little ruffians. See if one night with the beasts doesn't scare the devil outta you."

Malfoy, who had been giving the group a wide berth since he arrived, paled noticeably. "B—beasts?!"

Filch laughed. "Wouldn't you naughty brats want to know?"

"You can't be serious! Why the—who in their right minds would send children in the Forbidden Forest! I'll make sure my Father hears all about this!"

Oh for fuck's sake. Ron rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation. Yes, the Forbidden Forest is a dangerous place, but how is freaking out like a cat in water supposed to help?

Not that he doesn't have a point. A group of children, serving detention in a forest full of classified dangerous creatures that could snap us in half? Is being caught after curfew so bad it's punishable by death?

"Hagrid?" Ron heard Harry call out in surprise when the half-giant came into view, Fang right next to him.

Filch snorted. "Don't get too comfortable, Potter. You're still in detention."

"Right enough o' that nonsense," rebuked Hagrid gruffly. "You kids follow me."

Malfoy sneered in distaste at the sight of Hagrid but followed the group into the forest, cutting through the thick fog with their lamps in silence until Hermione spoke.

"What do we need to do here, Hagrid?"

"A little bit o' investigatin'," answered the half-giant. "Somethin' been goin' after the unicorns. We gonna try ter find out what."

"Go after the unicorns?" Harry repeated. "As in hunting them?"

"And drainin' 'em dry. Suckin' out all the blood."

"Like a vampire?"

Hagrid shook his head. "'Ey're bloodthirsty, right foul gits, but even they won' drink unicorn blood. Doing that's gon' curse ye fer life, and vamps got a lo' o' years in 'em. You oughtta be stupid and desperate ter—" Hagrid held out a hand. "Hol' up."

A trail of luminous, silver liquid splashed before the group's feet.

"Unicorn blood." Hagrid said grimly. "Right, we're splitting ter two teams. Two of ye will be with me, other two will be with Fang. Any o' you see anythin' wrong, you send sparks up with yer wand ter let the other team know." Hagrid eyed each of them sharply. "So no funny business and no splittin' from yer group! And stick ter the path!"

"Then I want the dog!" Malfoy declared loudly. "You can have Granger! Lot of good she'll do!"

Hermione flinched, making Ron step in front of her. "Well if you want the scaredy dog so bad, have at it. Least he's got bigger balls than you, Malfoy."

Malfoy made a strangled cry of protest but Hagrid boomed over him. "Break it up, ye lot. Harry, Malfoy, you be with Fang. I'll take Hermione and Ron. Remember ta stick to the path, ye hear me?"

"We're not daft. You only said it a thousand times," answered Ron. "Let's just get this stupid detention over with."

Hagrid's face appeared troubled, but Ron could care less as he and Hermione followed him deeper into the forest. He fully expected the detention to be mostly uneventful on his end, after all. Once Harry had had his run-in with Quirrell and the centaurs, Ron was looking forward to going back to bed then proceed with his plans.

Then he caught sight of Hermione fidgeting with her scarf. He cleared his throat. "You all right, Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes widened in apparent surprise before attempting to smile. "Of course, Ron. Everything's fine."

"Really?" Ron studied her furrowed brows and crooked smile before raising a brow. "Want to run that by me again?"

Hermione's face fell. "Ah, it's not—it shouldn't be a big deal. Harry's getting the worst of it, I'm sure."

"Are the other Gryffindors still being dumbarses?"

"...It's not that bad."

If Ron had a knut for every time he heard that bull… "I'll be the judge of that."

Hermione bit her lip. "Everyone, well almost everyone's been avoiding me. No one, other than you, Harry and Neville want to sit next to me during classes and meals. And then there are others who'd talk behind my back, although I'm fairly certain they know I could hear them."

"Even the ones from your dorm?"

The bushy haired girl shook her head. "Oh no, they've actually been...all right? They just stay away from me when we're outside. It's a bit disappointing but I can understand." Hermione's lips trembled. "It's just so...frustrating, to think that our house mates could turn against us like this! Aren't they supposed to be our home away from home? Like a second family? Because as far as I know, families don't treat each other like shite!"

Is it a testament to how upset Hermione was that she was actually swearing right now? Or proof of Ron being a bad influence? The red head pushed the stray musing aside. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I wish I could say all the Lions have each other's backs, but frankly I've been getting more encouragement from people outside the Tower."

"Me too! Sue's been absolutely lovely! Joining the Arithmancy Study Club was the best decision I have made this year, thanks to you two!"

Ron expected that to be the case. While it was a stretch to say that all of the Study Club members had been understanding, the ones that mattered to Ron ranged from encouraging and sympathetic, like Sue, Penelope and Cedric, to neutral, like the Slytherins (though Greengrass did give him a number of disapproving quips, and Pucey openly expressed his disappointment in a way that made Ron feel like the worst scum of the earth).

"And that's it. I can't say that this will be the last time we could turn others against us, or that we'll have the other Gryffindors' support next time it happens. What I can promise is that you have us, Hermione. Me, Harry, Neville. Even when it feels like the whole House or even Hogwarts is against you."

Hermione locked eyes with him. "Do you mean that?"

"We trashed a troll together. Like it or not, you're stuck with me until the very end. So don't go taking on trolls by yourself." Before he could think the better of it, Ron pulled her into a one-armed hug. "No matter what, we're with you. All the bloody way."

"Oh I won't be going after any trolls ever again. You can count on that." Hermione let out a watery laugh despite her glittering eyes and flushed cheeks. "I don't know what you see in me, Ron, but I'm really lucky to have a friend like you."

It was Ron's turn to stare. "Really? So I'm more than just a six-foot-tall ginger idiot?"

"You're not six feet tall."

"Yet, but who knows?"

"You can still be a bit daft and a boy," Hermione rolled her eyes at the last word. "But you're much nicer and more sensitive than most." She raised a brow. "Has anyone ever told you, that you act mature for your age?"

Ron shrugged again. "Not that I remember."

"I find that hard to believe. Then again, you're always selling yourself short for some reason," said Hermione. "But still, I mean it. You're a really good friend, and I'm glad you're ours."

The way she smiled at him, showing a bit of her buck teeth, looking soft, shy and sure at the same time, warmed Ron's chest with the familiar touch of affection. He never understood why Hermione always said her teeth made her look so ugly. He always found it made her cute in a unique Hermione-like way, especially when she smiled.

But before he could say something else, his ears perked up.

A trill. High pitched. Melodic. Echoing.

"Wait!" Ron's sudden shout made his companions stop. "What was that?"

Hagrid and Hermione traded unsure glances. Hagrid shook his head. "Ye hear somethin'?"

"Don't you?" Ron turned around. "That sound. Over there somewhere. It's—it's like music!"

"Music?" Hermione echoed.

"Like a song. Like someone singing." Ron strained his ears to listen.

Trilling. Ringing. Echoing. Calling.

"Can't you hear it, really?" He furrowed his brows. "It sounds...familiar."

"...Ron, I don't think we…" But before Hermione could finish, Ron broke into a run. "Wha—? Ron! Ron, wait!"

"Ron, get back 'ere!"

But the boy ran forward, blocking out Hermione's and Hagrid's calls in favor of that song.

I swear to Merlin it's close. I can hear it clearer now. Whoever—whatever—it is, it's close. Where is it?

A song. A trill. A call. Echoing against his footfalls to the earth.

A voice. A child's voice. Bouncing around the tall, dark trees and swirling in the chilly, grass scented air.

"Ron!"

"Ron! Ron, come back—"

But he carried on running, guided only by his ears, as the melody grew louder and clearer.

It's getting closer. I can barely see with this old lamp, but I can feel it somehow. Maybe I should throw this away and use my wand…Ron clicked his tongue in dismissal. Bad idea. I need my wand free just in case something attacks me. But where is that sound coming from? What's making it? Where is it? Where are you?

"Hah!"

To the right? Ron's heels skidded to a halt, turning around.

Blue eyes met gold, and Ron blinked twice to be sure of what he was seeing, because it was honestly one of the most surreal things he had seen in this second life.

Several feet away, against the shadow blanketed tree, right underneath the moonlight peeking past the swaying pine leaves, was what appeared to be a boy with the lightest blond hair Ron had ever seen, even brighter in comparison to the child's faded white and yellow robes. Ron couldn't see it clearly, but it looked like there were marks of light reds and purples littering the luminous pale skin.

But what is a boy doing here? Not a student, definitely. I can't tell what he's wearing exactly, but I'm sure they're not Hogwarts robes. Ron shook his head. Never mind that now!

"Oi! You!" Ron called out to the child, who had stiffened and pressed himself against the tree, seemingly holding his side. "Hey, easy. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help."

But the boy was starting to frantically attempt to crawl (drag) himself away, looking so awfully pathetic with the way he was holding his side, that Ron decided to slow his pace in an attempt to not scare the child further.

"Hey, hey, it's OK. I swear I'm not going to hurt you. Look, see," he held his hands up. "I'm not holding anything. I just want to help."

Those golden eyes pinned him for what felt like an eternity before the boy spoke. "Who...are you?"

"Ron." He tried to keep his voice as soothing as possible. "Ron Weasley. I'm a student here at Hogwarts."

"Hog...warts…" The boy blinked, expression pensive. "Hogwarts? Is this...the safe place?"

"...I don't...know what you mean about that. But Hogwarts is definitely safer than this forest." Ron held out his hand. "Come on. I have some other friends with me. We can help—"

But the boy's eyes widened. "LOOK OUT!"

"Wha—?" Wind rushed in his ears, and Ron instinctively jumped back in time to avoid something hard falling from above where his head was.

Good thing I didn't use my wand for that Lumos. Ron whipped it out while holding his lamp aloft, shining the light on long, hairy, jointed limbs...

"DEPULSO!" He roared with a sharp stab of his wand, sending a powerful blast of white straight onto the looming Acromantula dangerously close in front of him. Wicked! Having a wrist wand holster sure is handy! I need to remember to thank the Lovegoods properly when I see them again.

The huge spider let out a screech as the force of the spell sent it flying a few feet back. It was a disturbing sight that would have once turned him into a quaking mess, but not anymore.

"REDUCTO! DEPRIMO!" Ron flung spells at the monstrous spider, repeating through the offensive spells he knew while keeping an eye out for Hagrid and Hermione.

Come on, where are they? Did I really run too far away? What's taking them so long?

Another screech. The boy behind him let out a gasp. Ron's gaze hardened with determination.

"CONFRINGO! REDUCTO!" Thank Merlin Ron was able to make Charlie's old wand work again somewhat. With the continuous barrage of spells, the Acromantula was backing away steadily, shrieking all the while, until it finally lifted its huge body and scuttled away.

Should I have used Diffindo to cut the legs? No, I wouldn't be able to know for sure if my Diffindo is strong enough to. My spells looked like they hurt, but from the way that thing just got away, it looked like it didn't do much damage—

BOOM!

The sky lit up with red sparks a good distance away from Ron, making his gut clench.

Harry and Malfoy!

"RON!" The red head saw Hermione and Hagrid rushing up to him, the former breathing harshly and looking especially cross.

"RON! YOU ABSOLUTELY DAFT—! WHY DID YOU RUN OFF LIKE THAT?!" Hermione screamed so shrilly,Ron barely held himself back from covering his ears.

"S—Sorry, Hermione. But it was the right call! There was a boy there, hurt by the looks of it. We need to get him back to Hogwarts!"

"Boy?" Hermione's brows furrowed. "What boy?"

"That blond over—what?" Ron did a double take. When he turned to look for the boy again, there was no one else but him, Hermione and Hagrid. "Where did he go?"

"'o ye talkin' bout?" Hagrid scratched his head. "When we came 'ere, yer were all by yerself. But I saw you flingin' spells at somethin' earlier. What was it?"

"An ac—a huge spider thing. More of a monster really." Ron pretended to shudder. "But it's gone now."

"A spider, eh?" Hagrid cleared his throat, looking so painfully guilty that Ron looked away. "Err, anyway, since yer fine, reckon we go get Harry. Don' really like leavin' him 'lone with that Malfoy."

"But…" Ron let out a frustrated sigh. "Right, let's go."

I don't know what happened, but I know what I saw. Wherever that boy is, I hope he's OK.

Dear Ronnie,

That's sad news. I hope you, Harry and Hermione feel better soon. I can only imagine how dreadful things must be after losing that much points! Are your Housemates treating you better lately? Percy and the twins better not be giving you lot a hard time! I bet Fred and George lost loads more than you three have combined!

I don't think Mum and Dad know about what happened yet. Or at least, I haven't heard Mum try and send you a Howler. I'm surprised Percy hasn't written to her about it, but I reckon we ought to count our blessings.

It's rather boring being alone in the Burrow with just Mum and Errol. I can't believe I'm writing this, but I'm actually wishing for the Gnomes to show up more often, just so I have something more to do. Other than cooking and knitting, I mean. I like doing them as much as the next witch, but not all day! I'd rather fly, if Mum would let me, but it doesn't feel the same anymore when I'm by myself. I hope we get to fly again soon, and maybe someday, not have to do it behind Mum's back.

The Fawcetts will be gone all week, something about a trip to France. Maybe they're considering sending Flor and Fina to Beaubaxtons? I hope not. I'll miss having them around. Luna, probably more so, since she's closer to them than I am. It would be nice to have more friends in Hogwarts from the neighborhood, like you and Cedric. You might want to be careful, though. Our big brothers might think you're considering replacing one of them.

Don't let those lost House points bother you so much, Ronnie. I'm sure you will be able to get them back. I don't know why you thought of staying out during curfew, but I know you had a good reason for it. I just wish you'd be more careful. After what happened with that bad man who was Scabbers, I think Mum and Dad are still worried about you. I am too, so please take care, OK?

Hope you write back soon.

Love,

Ginny

This has been such a tiring week...

Ron took a deep breath of the fresh morning air after taking a break from his morning jog. It was finally the weekend, the second to the last one before the finals. And as much as Ron knew studying was important, he also wanted to take all the breaks he could. Especially since he hadn't been getting as much sleep as he used to for several reasons.

Aside from studying for the exams, there were Harry's nightmares, and Ron's own preoccupation with the boy he had met in the forest. After coming back from detention , Harry was plagued by dreams of what he had seen: a hooded Voldemort, hovering over a still unicorn, drinking its blood. Malfoy had shot the sparks in a panic before running off with Fang. Thank Merlin Firenze had come for Harry this time around too!

But since exams were drawing closer, their little group had to shift their attention to last minute readings, rushing through the last of their homework and earning whatever points they can for the Gryffindors. Ron, however, had more to do than just studying and counting the days until summer.

Only another week left before the finals, and by the end of that, Quirrell will make his move since Dumbledore was supposedly summoned by the Minister. Although, I wouldn't be surprised if that was set up by Quirrell too, thought Ron. So, if I want to stop Harry, Hermione and Neville from going through the traps, I can cut right to the chase and point to Quirrell as Voldemort's pawn.

Ron had come to that decision by the time he had returned to the forest, the encounter with Firenze having encouraged him that the plan he had in mind was as good as it sounded in his head. It was a bit unnerving since he had never talked much with them before, but Firenze, despite being a bit of an oddball, was one of the kinder centaurs.

Also his cryptic words left a cold feeling in his gut, and not just because of their ambiguousness.

"Well met, ye favored by Death and blessed by the storm."

"What?" A chilled sweat dripped down Ron's spine, causing him to glance around to check if anyone was listening. After seeing that everyone was distracted by Harry's safe return, he sent a furtive glance at the calm Firenze. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I know who you are. To be precise, what you are," said Firenze. "Your coming to this world has been mapped in our stars. The duality of your magic, your very soul, bright yet fleeting as a shooting star. And the burden of the destiny you must bear."

It bothered Ron a lot, the mystified way Firenze mentioned his coming to the world, as if he was some sort of hero or chosen one. That's Harry's job, not his! But at least Firenze's parting words gave Ron some confidence in his plan. Now he just had to find the right timing.

But when should he…?

Tweet. Tweet. Tweet.

"Wha—?" Hearing birdcalls wasn't unusual during his early morning run, but there was something about this one that made Ron stop. The cry was unusually loud, obviously very close to where he stood.

And it sounds...hurt. The red head cautiously made its way to what was seemingly the source, a thick, gnarled dark tree, the biggest of the trees overlooking the lake. Peering over the edge of the thick trunk, Ron raised a perplexed brow. "A bird?"

Not an ordinary bird, Ron could immediately tell. It was as big as one of Hagrid's roosters but with a matted, dirty white and gold plumage flecked with mud and blood. It was curled up in such a pathetic way, its tittering resembling a whine, that it made Ron think of a sick, crying child.

Is this one of Hagrid's pets? Maybe not. I'd definitely remember seeing something like this if he had. Maybe it came from the Forest? Ron tried to approach the creature, but had to step back when the bird's eyes—golden enough to rival the sun—flew open as it let out a shriek. "Oi, easy there. I'm not going to hurt you. You look beaten up enough already." Ron raised his hands. "I'm just here to help, see? No wands."

He was prepared for the bird to remain defensive, but for some reason, the creature's tense frame relaxed, dropping its head back on the grass with a soft croon.

"Err, does that mean it's OK for me to come closer? You want me to help you?"

The bird let out a few trills, sounding more tired with each one it made.

O...k. Maybe it's because it's that out of energy to fight back. Ron surmised with a grim frown. And that's not a good thing. How hurt is it?

"I'll just check you over, all right? Just relax." He grimaced. "As much as you can, anyway."

Since Ron wasn't confident that he could do the diagnostic spell right even after Hermione all but drilled it into his and Harry's heads during the Horcrux hunt (and he wasn't sure if it would work on animals anyway), the boy did a visual inspection from what he could remember from the Care of Magical Creatures lessons with Hagrid.

Some nicks and bruises here and there, but the real problem are the wounds on its side. It even looks like there's something wrong with its wing. Ron's frown deepened. This wasn't something he could treat on his own with his limited magical creature knowledge. "OK, it looks like you're hurt really bad. I'll get you to someone who can help you out."

To Ron's shock, the bird had seemingly awakened with renewed vigor and squawked indignantly, flapping its weak wings like there was no tomorrow.

"Ow! What the bloody—? Oi, stop it! You're already badly hurt! What's gotten into you?!"

The bird however just kept squawking and screeching to the point of hurting Ron's eardrums as he tried to figure out if he did something wrong. The bird was actually pretty docile while he was handling it, so it couldn't be because he touched something bad or made the pain worse...

"...Wait, are you mad because I mentioned I'll bring you to someone else?" Ron couldn't help but standing there in amazement when the creature actually stopped and glared as if saying, "Yes, finally, you get it you dimwit.."

Holy shite, I know I was talking to it earlier, but I didn't think…! There's no way it could actually… "You can...understand me?"

Was it him or did the bird actually roll its eyes? Could birds really do that?! This just keeps getting stranger and stranger!

Ron had to slap himself to get his focus back. "Look, I really want to help you, but...I'm no Magizoologist or an animal healer. I have a friend who might be able to do something about these injuries, but I have to take you to…"

There was an angry squawk again, and this time Ron definitely felt that it said "I don't care, I said NO!"

"Even if you could die if I don't take you to him?"

Another angry noise made Ron exhale noisily. Oh Merlin, and I thought Harry was stubborn!

"All right, all right, I won't take you to him. But I need to take you somewhere! And we need to get these wounds treated too!" Ron held his hands out. "Can you at least trust me?"

The bird's eyes looked as if it were staring into the very depths of his soul, but Ron held his ground until the creature crooned again while seemingly tilting its head at him.

"Well, if you don't want anyone else to see you, you have to let me take you somewhere quickly before the rest of the school wakes up." Ron felt his tense body loosen when the injured creature drooped its head and allowed the wizard to pick him up.

"Since you want to be stuck with me for some reason, I guess I have to make sure you've trusted the right wizard, at least." Ron didn't know for sure if he made the right decision, but anything was better than letting it die. What was with him running into folks in need of help lately?

First, that boy, and now this...whatever this is. I wasn't able to do anything about that child, but at least I'll be able to help this one. But where can I bring this bird if it doesn't want to go to Hagrid's? Come on, Ron, think! What does it need? A quiet place where it can rest and heal up. Would be nice if there were healing stuff I can use to wrap these injuries, and whatever else I could...need…

"I think I know just where to take you."

Well, that was pretty long, wasn't it? Is it a fair trade considering how long you had tow wait for this?

Getting closer to the homestretch now. And more OCs! What joy!

If you liked the chapter, please leave a kudo/review/follow/favorite, and hoping for your patience as I work on the next chapter.

Stay safe!

UP NEXT:

Ron's picked up a new friend(?) in the middle of finalizing his plans with Quirrell. But what is the plan exactly? Will it really stop Harry from going through the trials and meeting Voldie?

Have you ever heard of the term, "fixed points in time?"

(Wait, did I just spoil the next chapter? Chuchi bad! XD)

Chapter Text

Holy shite, yes, I’m alive, and yes, I’m still writing. I’m sorry this took forever to publish. Honestly, I fell into a rut while writing this chapter and it took a lot (and I mean a lot) of revisions.

And lo, from all that muck, this is what came out.

Thanks to everyone who left their reviews and checking in on me for this fic’s status, both in FF.net and AO3, and those who PM’ed me, like ReetDaKing, Scribe117, and SmithofNightmares . Thanks also to those who took the time to DM me in Tumblr as well, notably, walalangao3, revprov1, general-thinks, pain-in-the-ass-kur o o, and littlelazuli . There is just too many of you to say thanks to, but no words can fully express my gratitude. I hope this chapter is indeed worth the long wait.

Also for those who have the same comment as Scribe117 , far as I remember reading HPSS, McGonagall did not show her animagus form during first year classes? We saw it in chapter 1, but was not mentioned again in the books until HPPOA, and from what I know, that was because the concept of animagus transformation is not taught until Year 3.

Chapter is partially beta read by the wonderful acnelli . Thanks, as always, for your great work!

Chapter Sixteen:

To Set and To Spring

With Easter break over, and the week of the finals drawing closer, most, if not all, of Hogwarts was fraught with stress and anxiety. Even the first years, despite their relatively lighter coursework, weren’t spared, as Ron had seen many firsties in huddles, furiously whispering over their notes and last minute homework revisions.

Ron wished he could say that, being a time traveler, he was having an easier time than his peers with his own workload. But that was not exactly the case.

At least he got his homework, including the ones for the Study Clubs, out of the way; and that the Study Clubs, out of consideration for the upcoming finals, ended early May. Now all he had to worry about was preparing for the finals, taking care of the bird creature he found by the lake, and getting rid of Quirrell. The boy was determined to get nothing less than Acceptable in his subjects, partly because his inner Hermione Granger will never let him forget the utter humiliation of failing a First Year level exam.

Fortunately, he was doing well on at least one thing; the bird he rescued was recovering quite well in the Room of Requirement.

It had been a tense trip from the lake to the castle after Ron found the creature. But once he arrived at the Room of Requirement, the place quickly adapted to his frantic mental cries of, “I need a place to treat an injured bird.”

The cozy Burrow living room setup remained mostly intact, save for the addition of a pillowed basket near the fireplace and healing supplies like rolls of bandages, thermometers, potions and other tools Ron couldn’t even begin to understand what they could be for. There were also a number of Care of Magical Creature books (except for the Monster Book of Monsters, thank Merlin) particularly on magical birds that Ron quickly read through to get some idea of what to do.

Ron honestly would not be able to tell how he managed, but he followed the instructions as best as he could. The biggest concern was the wound on its side, which Ron had cleaned, applied some dittany and murtlap on, and then bandaged before putting drops of healing potion on the smaller abrasions that dotted its body.

I really lucked out this time. If anyone saw me sneaking this in, I would have been in a world of trouble. Ron had thought at the time. But at least the bird is fine for now. Although I wish it would let me take it to someone who knows a thing or two about treating animals. Or at least get help from said someone.

But that aside, what is this bird?

When the initial panic and excitement settled down, Ron shifted to puzzling over this bizarre creature that he found, even going through the texts he had for any clues.

Gold and white plumage, heavy set wings, a long head with a curved yellow beak. Built like a hawk or an eagle. Ron scratched his head. Well, that leaves a lot out of the magical birds on this list, if it was one to begin with. Too big for a golden snidget. Too quiet for a fwooper. Definitely not a diricrawl. And too small and not enough wings to be a thunderbird.

That leaves, if we count the non-magical birds, a sort of hawk, eagle, falcon, or a type of phoenix. Ron frowned thoughtfully. But that’s impossible. You don’t just...run into a phoenix, not even if you’re a wizard. You’ve got a better chance to run into a harpy!

In the end, Ron still hadn’t figured out anything concrete about the bird, but he did get a nudge to the right direction thanks to...

A light chirp rose Ron from his musings, making the boy smile slightly at the golden fluffball tilting its head curiously by his books.

“Someone’s healing up really nicely.” Ron said, nudging at the bird’s beak with the feather end of his quill.

It has been more than a week since Ron found the creature; and with the Study Club sessions over, Ron had more time to check on the broken wing which was slowly but surely on the mend, and the bruises, which had faded to the point of being barely visible. In fact, the bird was already strong enough to take measured steps around the room, seemingly determined to explore its every nook and cranny. Ron didn’t mind, since he could tell that the bird was intelligent enough not to do anything stupid while he buried himself into his books, notes and essays.

Right now, however, the creature apparently had enough of exploring for now and hopped back to Ron’s side, letting out what the boy interpreted as an irritated tweet at the quill tip on its beak before regarding Ron with curious amber eyes.

“Studying,” Ron answered the unspoken query. “Like what I’ve always been doing when I come up here.”

He then rolled his eyes when the bird squawked as if offended. “Well, of course I came to see you too. Otherwise, I would have done all this in the library and left you to the House Elves, you little windcaller.”

It was a flash of brilliance that occurred to him, that one time when he still needed to change the bird’s bandages and he was running late for a class–why not enlist the help of Hogwarts’ House Elves? Yes, they were friendly and eager to please, but more than that, they were resourceful, good at keeping secrets and were brilliant at circumventing orders if it meant helping those they consider friends.

And thanks to his foreknowledge, Ron was able to befriend a good number of them this year. (Apparently, the way to a House Elf’s heart is through being a glutton with some semblance of manners, and remembering them by name.)

It may have taken what felt like hours of explaining and convincing the stubborn bird, but Ron felt that it had been worth it. With the House Elves’ help, Ron was able to get proper food and assistance on doing rudimentary treatments. And the House Elves, who were utterly fascinated by the yellow fluffball, had been so eager to help that it had been easy to swear them to secrecy, so long as he would not be any danger to the rest of Hogwarts.

The bird was a male, by the way. Noddy, one of the House Elves, confirmed both this and the fact that they could somehow understand the bird though being able to interpret its sounds and gestures as words and feelings.

“Well, that definitely means this bird is a magical creature,” Ron said after Noddy’s explanation. “Unless you are also able to do that with non-magical birds?”

“Noddy cannot, although other House Elves is being able to talk to other creatures, magic or no. But magical creatures of higher mind like master windcaller is being able to express himself without words.”

“Err, sorry, windcaller? Is that what it, I mean, he is?”

Noddy nodded. “You is having other name for master windcaller. We is calling him as such because it is being able to call the wind.”

“A bird who can call the wind? What does that even mean?”

“Not just wind, master Ronald.” Noddy said, eyes twinkling. “Master windcaller can be calling all that is making the sky, the wind, the clouds, and the rain. But it is being odd. Windcallers is not normally being found in Scotland, and one as young as master windcaller being with no clan…”

“A clan?” Ron echoed. “You mean like a family?”

“Yes. Windcallers is normally going with clans. A windcaller alone can be being lost, separated, or…” Noddy’s ears drooped, her wide brown eyes going back to the bird sleeping quietly in his basket. “Or its clan is no more. Perhaps it is why master windcaller is sad? Windcallers is not liking not being alone.”

Ron’s expression darkened at the memory of that tidbit. I hope it’s not because his family’s been wiped out, although it could be possible, since I found him hurt in the Forbidden Forest. But what could be strong enough to hurt a family of traveling windcallers? And why were they even traveling to Scotland? He shook the thought away. Let’s just focus on getting the little bird healed up properly. We’ll worry about the rest afterwards.

Ron’s thoughts were interrupted again by an irritated caw, making the boy smile sheepishly at the bird next to him. “Sorry. Have a lot in mind recently.” He flicked his quill over the bird’s head. “And you. You must be itching to get out of here, right? Sorry I can’t be of any more help right now. Just let me sort everything I have going on now.”

The bird tilted his head in seeming consideration before it let out a tweet that Ron was able to interpret as, “want to talk about it?”

Ron shrugged. “Just the usual: worrying about my exams and about that bad guy professor I told you about.”

This was becoming a routine of theirs lately. Whenever Ron would get too deep into thinking about his problems, the bird would somehow be able to sense it and nudge him into talking about it. And because Ron knew the bird can be trusted with his secrets—as well as his need to talk to someone he can be more honest to— the red head would eventually open up to him.

It wasn’t unusual for Ron that he could talk to a bird about the shite in his life more than he could with his friends or family, though. He remembered being able to do the same with Pig and even, to his shame, Scabbers in the old life. Animals just have their way of earning trust and being good listeners, he supposed.

“So anyway, Quirrell, the one working for the big dark wizard, he is planning something very big soon, and I have to stop him. But since I already told you how badly it turned out whenever I tried to do things on my own when I could have asked for help,” Ron cringed at the reminder of the horrid last few weeks. “This time, I’ll ask help from some of the good guys. But there is the problem of how to prove that the bad professor is, err, bad right?” Ron smiled. “Well, I think I have found a solution!”

Taking Second Chance, which he kept regularly on his person the closer he came to the D-day (short for dreaded day, as Ron called it), he opened it on a specific dog-eared page for his bird friend to inspect. “Here it is! My plan C version I lost count ages ago! What do you think?”

Did Ron mention that the windcaller was a very smart bird? Because he can’t help but be reminded of it again when the creature hopped up to the spread pages of his journal, tilting its head and chirping as if reading intently before tapping at a particular section with his beak.

“Must do before end of exams.” Ron read. “Are you asking why not now? I could tell the others about the bad professor’s plans, but, unless I show all my cards, they won’t have a reason to believe me. And whether I convince them or not, I’ll end up in a very hard position either way. It’s just not worth the risk.”

Ron pointed at the appropriate sections of the plan “So instead of that, I need to reel Quirrell in. Setting the board is a bit slow, but the time I have is more than enough. Once it’s gone long enough, he’ll have to make his move, exposing himself to be the bad guy he really is. And when that happens…” He gave the parchment a sharp tap. “It’s checkmate, you bastard."

His rage must have shown on his face, because after a chirp, the bird did what he never did before: perching on Ron’s shoulder and bopping his head against the boy’s temple. It was so unexpected that Ron’s angry countenance smoothed into a grateful smile.

“Oi, are you trying to comfort me?” Ron said with a teasing flick on the creature's head with his quill.

The bird let out another chirp before pointing at another item on the parchment with his wing.

“...Oh, you’re worried about that part of the plan?” Ron winced. “I know, I don’t like putting others in potentially dangerous situations either. But hopefully it won’t be too dangerous.” He cleared his throat. “At the very least, they’re the only ones I can trust to be able to handle it.”

The windcaller studied him for a moment before he rested its forehead against Ron’s again.

“Bloody hell, if this plan got even you worried, I wouldn’t want to imagine how Harry and the others will take this.” Ron smiled slightly while stroking the bird’s head. “But you trust me, don’t you, little windcaller? I’ll be fine. And once this is all over, I’ll come back here and tell you all about it.”

His avian friend gave his finger a light nip before chirping and staring at him as if to say, “I’ll hold you to that.” The more it happened, the more it intrigued Ron that he too could understand the windcaller’s gestures and vocalizations so well. He made a mental note to ask Noddy about it some other time as he tapped the bird’s beak. “You know, you really are too smart for your own good. If you keep being such a big help, I’ll come to rely on you too much I might end up keeping you.”

It was a nice thought, but Ron knew it couldn’t happen. If this windcaller really is a magical creature with a clan hopefully still out there somewhere, it was only right to let the bird go back to where it really belonged.

Still, the thought of having something akin to a real familiar was nice while the bird was still here. Although, it also made him miss Pigwidgeon a bit more each day.

He pushed the somber feeling aside in favor of turning back to Second Chance. “Would it help if we went over the whole plan again? Mind you, most of it is already done up to this point, but I suppose a rundown wouldn’t hurt.” It will definitely help with my own nerves regarding all this.

The golden bird tweeted in agreement before hopping back on to the notebook parchment, pointing at the beginning of the inked diagram. At the prompt, Ron began to read.

STOP QUIRREL FROM GETTING THE STONE

PLAN C

GOAL: Out Quirrell as Voldemort’s pawn without us having to go through the trapdoor

“Hullo, Sue.”

Sue was beaming despite her pale complexion as she waved. “Ron. Hermione. Ni hao!” She then gestured to the girl next to her bed. “This is Cho Chang, one of my fellow Ravens and a really good friend of mine! Half-Chinese from her Baba’s side too! Loves sharksfin dimsun, bird’s nest soup, and the Ballad of Mulan!”

“Nice to meet you, Ron, Hermione.” Cho greeted pleasantly. “Sue has told me so much about you. I hope we can all get along as well.”

After both Ron and Hermione shook Cho’s hand and more greetings were exchanged, Ron turned back to Sue. “Anyway, we heard you were still feeling under the weather so we thought of dropping by for a bit.”

“I also have the practice sheets you asked me to review a while ago.” Hermione added as she handed some sheets of parchment to Sue. “Not that I’m saying you should work on them now, of course. You should take care of yourself first! I was just worried I’d miss the opportunity to give them back, since exams are coming soon and I imagine you have a lot of studying and homework to catch up on…” She blushed. “Sorry, I’m just rambling, aren’t I? How are you feeling?”

“Much better, all things considered. Madame Pomfrey said I’ll be out of the Hospital Wing tomorrow.” Sue smiled kindly. “Sorry to have worried you, Hermione.”

The bushy haired witch nodded. “Penny and Ron told me that it happens to you often, but it’s not a big deal. I’m just glad it was nothing serious.”

When Sue hadn’t shown up for the third to the last Arithmancy study club meeting, it was Penelope who explained to Hernione about Sue’s occasional sniffles which would sometimes force her to skip some classes at their worst.

“But it’s not as bad as it sounds,” Ron, who already knew about this months ago, added on seeing Hermione’s troubled look. “Magical folk who get the sniffles usually just develop runny noses, headaches or an occasional fever. Sue will just need to rest for a day or so.”

“That’s a relief. It’s just odd. I’ve never heard of wizards getting sick with a common cold.”

“Common cold?” Penelope echoed curiously. “Is that a Muggle illness?”

“Yes. It’s usually caused by a virus, a microorg–a very, very small creature of sorts–and would cause the exact same symptoms as your sniffles.” Hermione explained. “It’s called the common cold because it can happen all year round, and all Muggles would have had it at least once in their lives.”

“Nice to know, but I don’t think what we’re catching is the Muggle variety. Still, when we do get sick, it can get a bit nasty.” Ron remembered the few times his siblings—Ginny and Percy—had them. Puffy eyes, red noses dribbling with snot, coughing fits that can occasionally cause something to pop. “Thankfully, it’s not as common as your, err, common cold.”

Still, the sniffles warranted at least an overnight stay in the hospital wing. Unfortunately for Sue, her illness reared its head at a bad time.

“Oh this is just the worst.” Sue said with a pout while reading over the worksheet Hermione gave her. “Why did I have to get the sniffles now of all times? How am I supposed to turn in my Arithmancy essay on top of all my leftover homework?”

Cho, who had been quiet up until now, said, “Tomorrow’s a Saturday, right? Why don’t we go to the library soon after breakfast so we can work on our homework together? I’m halfway done with mine, so I’ll help you with whatever I can.”

“That’s a great idea.” Hermione seconded eagerly. “I’m done with my workload as well, but I have some notes that can help you prepare for the finals. I can lend them to you if you want.”

“I’d take the chance if I were you, Sue.” Ron stage whispered. “Hermione’s notes are so neat and organized, they’ll put our textbooks to shame. And she doesn’t take the initiative to lend them to just anyone. Harry, Neville and I had to beg on our knees for them once.”

“ Ronald! ”

“Would you, really? Oh, hou do ze nei, Cho, Hermoine!” Sue said with a relieved smile and an energetic hug, casuing Hermione to squeak in pleasant surprise.

“...I assume she said thank you?”

“A very enthusiastic thank you.” Cho confirmed for Ron with a smile. “You’re welcome to join us tomorrow if you’re free.”

“Oh, really? I—” Hermione looked like a deer caught in headlights until Ron gently elbowed her. “Yes, of course I—I’d be happy to! After breakfast, right? I—I’ll sort my notes out tonight!”

Ron scratched the back of his head with a sigh. “Wish I could, but I can’t. I, err, have something to discuss with Hagrid again tomorrow. But maybe once I’m done earlier, I can go catch up.”

“We’ll pick a table where you can easily find us just in case.” Sue assured him before Hermione said, “Hagrid’s again? You’ve been seeing him a lot lately.”

“Nothing too serious. Just me asking him a few questions about, err, animal care,” said Ron. “Was thinking of getting a new pet after Pe–Scabbers. Bloody rat disappeared on me during the holidays. Must be because I always kept him in his cage.”

That was a lie, of course. The real reason Ron had been seeing Hagrid lately was to get advice on how to treat the mysterious bird he found by the Lake. Not that he told Hagrid about the creature, per se. Instead, using the mysterious encounter in the Forbidden Forest during their detention as a springboard, Ron would ask hypothetical questions about how to treat injured animals, including birds. It wasn’t a very well thought out way to broach the topic, but Hagrid had been forthcoming and helpful, eager to share his knowledge and answering Ron’s questions with patience the red head honestly did not expect Hagrid to have.

Granted, he and Hagrid weren’t very close in the first life, and Ron didn’t really know the half-giant as well as Harry or Hermione did. Not to mention that he hadn’t been that interested in Care of Magical Creatures, so he had no reason to bond with Hagrid over it back then either. But listening to Hagrid talking about the subject with boundless enthusiasm and a desire to impart the knowledge, Ron was starting to think that maybe Dumbledore didn’t choose Hagrid as the Care of Magical Creatures Professor just because.

Maybe, had Hagrid only been given a chance to graduate, he could have been a full-fledged Professor instead of merely being a Gamekeeper. If nothing else, Ron had to admit that his recent talks with Hagrid helped considerably soften his anger towards the half-giant to almost nothing, and they were on good terms again.

Something Hermione was again quick to point out. “Well, I’m glad for it. You’ve been at odds with Hagrid for a while now. It’s good that you’re friends again.”

“Hagrid? You mean the gamekeeper? Why would you be—?” Cho then blushed upon catching herself. “Sorry, that’s none of my business. Anyway, about—hey, isn’t that Professor Flitwick?”

The group’s head swiveled as one to the entrance of the Hospital Wing. It was faint, but Ron did catch a glimpse of the half-dwarf Professor speeding past with a stern look on his face.

“I think so.” Hermione said after a confused pause. “But, I’ve never seen him look so serious before. I wonder if…” The bushy haired girl’s eyes widened after meeting Ron’s gaze before shaking her head. “I hope it’s nothing we need to worry about.”

Cho and Sue traded glances before the former frowned. “Actually, that’s been happening a lot this week.”

“What is?”

“It’s not just Professor Flitwick,” clarified Cho. “I’ve heard from the higher years that they’ve been seeing Professors Sprout and McGonagall, even Professor Hooch, hurrying about these past few weeks. I always assumed it was because of the final exams, but the others said it was unusual. It’s starting to worry even Penny, not that she said it outright though. Have you lot been noticing how there have been more Prefect meetings recently?”

“Uhm,” Sue cleared her throat. “I’m not quite sure but...you don’t suppose it has anything to do with the, err, rumors going on around?”

“Rumors?” Hermione, who was most likely kept busy by her schoolwork to pay attention to any gossip, furrowed her brows in confusion and interest. “About what?”

Cho hesitated before she leaned in to whisper. “Word around is that one of the Professors is not exactly, ah, mentally stable at the moment, shall we say? Some students heard him talking to himself a lot lately, and...they say that what they’ve heard is not very pleasant.”

“I heard about that too!” Ron said in a hushed tone. “Some even said it was like he was picking a fight with himself! ” He shuddered. “Can you imagine, overhearing something like that?”

“Anyway, apparently word is all over the school for the past week, so it must have reached the professors at one point.” Cho paused in thought. “Perhaps they’re keeping an eye on him, just in case? Hearing voices here in the wizarding world is always bad news…”

Hermione frowned, concerned. “I’ve read a bit about that. Wizards and witches hearing voices usually involve some form of dark magic or creatures, right? But if that were so, then shouldn’t that...err, Professor be dealt with quickly? But far as I know, they’re all still accounted for.”

Sue shrugged. “Because no one’s been able to prove anything. You’d think that would cause the issue to die down, and yet…”

“Obviously, some are keen on keeping that rumor mill going. Besides, gossip tends to die slow…” Hermione paused. “Hang on, which professor are we talking about?”

“Now that is the oddest thing about all this,” said Cho in a hushed whisper. “Although in hindsight, the rumors make sense. He isn’t exactly the most put together professor, is he?”

“Who?”

Cho met Sue’s eyes again before they both whispered. “Professor Quirrell.”

“Professor Qui—?” Hermione’s sharp gaze fell onto Ron, who shook his head, before she went on. “W—well, yes admittedly, he stutters a lot, is easily shaken, and looks rather, well, meek. But to say that he could be—”

Cho nodded. “I thought so too before. But then the rumors started because someone overheard Professor Quirrell arguing with himself, just like what Ron said. Whoever it was also wanted to go to the professors but was too scared for some reason. The next thing everyone knew, there are similar stories about Professor Quirrell popping around!”

Hermione was flabbergasted. “Well, that’s just irresponsible! If they really wanted to help, they should have gone to the professors straight away! Now, they may have just done more harm than good!”

Sue patted Hermione’s shoulder. “That most likely was not the intention…”

“By talking about what they heard among themselves? Where others can overhear them and potentially blow things out of proportion?! They might as well have meant for this to happen!”

Cho raised a brow. “Blow things out of what?”

“Blow things out of proportion. It’s a common Muggle saying...” Sue immediately jumped onto the chance to explain, and the girls then became so absorbed in the conversation, alternating between discussing the ongoing rumor about Professor Quirrell and teaching Cho other common muggle expressions, they missed the subtle smirk that went through Ron’s lips.

Spread the word that Quirrell is a loon who hears voices and keeps talking to himself.

Ron shrugged. “...I mean, it’s not my fault I happened to have heard him talking to the half-blood bastard , then assumed he was hearing voices and may have, ah, spread word about it, right? Also how was I supposed to know gossip would spread so fast from the library of all places? Not my fault there are loads of nosy students listening in on conversations behind bookshelves.

By the way, have I told you how amazing pitch changing charms are? It’s like Sonorous, but instead of making your voice louder when you put your wand on your neck, it makes your voice sound lower or higher. And depending on how you do it, you can make your voice sound like two or even three different people! Interesting, that, huh?”

“Err, Professor McGonagall?”

At McGonagall’s office—a simple, yet elegant setting of polished mahogany and crimson cushioned furniture, columns of bookshelves filled to the stone ceiling, and an aged white brick fireplace—the aged Transfiguration Professor looked up from the parchment she had been grading, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “Can I help you, Mr. Weasley?”

It was the Friday before the finals. Classes had just wrapped up, and Ron figured that, with Harry at Quidditch practice (because not even Exams are sacred enough for Oliver to cancel those); Hermione still with her study mates Cho and Sue; and Neville busy writing to his Nan; now was the best time to see her. “Sorry to bother you, Professor, but...err, it’s about, that again.”

McGonagall obviously caught his meaning, because she sighed tiredly. “This is the fourth time, Mr. Weasley.”

“I know, but I just can’t stop worrying.” Ron then made a show of discreetly eyeing his surroundings, making his Head of House sigh again before gesturing him to come inside. “I know you told me last time that I should just lay low and let things die down on their own. But the rumors are just everywhere, Professor! And they keep getting worse whenever I hear them!”

Word around Hogwarts really does spread like wildfire by itself. It only took a few days for the rumors about Quirrell’s “instability” to be the hot topic around the school grounds. Even at the peak of the students’ cramming essays and reviewing notes from cover to cover, gossip is still abuzz about the Professor hearing voices in his head and acting like a wound up lunatic.

(Although, maybe some of those gossiping students keeping the rumor’s fire going could have been just a certain student with the help of some voice charms. But who’s to say?)

Now the turbaned Professor can’t seemingly go anywhere without students eyeing him warily or even giving him a wide berth; and Quirrell’s nervous fidgets and stutterings were not helping his image any. Ron had even noticed some of the staff giving Quirrell concerned looks whenever the latter was in their vicinity.

And, judging by the visibly frazzled, jumpy air most of the Professors seemed to have about—more so than Ron recalled them having in the past—the whole thing was wearing them down. Still, to McGonagall’s credit, her tone remained patient and her gaze, sympathetic, in spite of her apparent fatigue. “I understand your concern, Mr. Weasley, but we’ve done all that we can for the moment, given that the finals are only days away.”

“But that’s what I’m even more worried about! Professor Quirrell’s already knackered over exams, and these rumors running going around are just going to make it worse!” Ron swallowed, scratching the back of his neck. “I know I should have come to you first. I shouldn’t have chickened out just because I was scared that Professor Quirrell would find out that I…” He paused. “Is...is Professor Quirrell all right? I know I don’t have the right to ask, but I’m really worried about him…”

McGonagall’s expression softened from behind desk. “Professor Quirrell is...coping, as best as he can. (At that Ron internally snorted. If by coping , you mean slinking in the shadows, acting even jumpier than usual and making him even more suspicious. ) And while your previous actions may have contributed to complicating matters, it is an understandable lapse of judgment that I am certain Professor Quirrell will not hold against you.”

“Won’t he? But I made him sound like a loon, Professor!”

McGonagall’s gaze on him remained impassive. “Was that your intention?”

Definitely. “Of course not! But I know what I saw and heard, and it really scar— worried, worried me!” The red head shivered. “He was talking to himself, as if he was fighting with someone. And the way I heard it, I swear to Merlin it really sounded like there were two people, but it was just Professor Quirrell and his shadow. And I don’t know what’s worse, Professor Quirrell fighting with himself, or that his shadow may actually be a different person picking a fight with him!”

McGonagall shook her head. “Rest asssured, Mr. Weasley, that none of those possibilities are the case. Perhaps he was merely overburdened, as you have said, and merely rather unwell when you heard him.”

“But Professor Quirrell is getting help, right?” Ron made a show of sweeping his gaze around warily for the nth time. “Because, after what I’ve heard before...I’m thinking he’ll get back at me somehow.”

“Absolutely not,” was McGonagall’s pointed declaration. “As we have discussed before, Mr. Weasley, we will not let such a thing happen.”

“But Professor—“

“I and your other Professors have done all we can to not only Professor Quirrell, but also to ensure that those rumors will not be traced back to you. He will not learn of your role in this situation unless you wish for him to. However, I would advise against it, as it will not help in any way—”

There was a tone of strong finality in the old witch’s words that made Ron nod, knowing that he was not getting more out of the topic, just like before. So far, none of the Professors—even Quirrell himself—had come out to address the issue outright. He understood that it was because of the finals, but Ron would have wanted some indication that some of the staff (other than Snape) were considering the possibility that there may be some truth to the rumors...

“—can do is to focus on your studies and leave Professor Quirrell to us.” The young time traveller’s focus turned back to the conversation at hand. “I have high expectations of you, Mr. Weasley, and you will do nothing less than exceeding them, in all your subjects, correct?”

Eh? That’s a...very strange way to put that. It’s obviously given that she will have high expectations of me. But why say I should—? Ron’s face then paled as soon as comprehension dawned. “Wait! Hang on! Professor, you can’t serious—!”

But the stern Professor merely nodded, her lips twitching the slightest bit upwards. “If there is nothing else, you may go, Mr. Weasley.”

“B—But in all my subjects?! Even bloody History of—?!”

“By studying, as I have just said. And yes, including ‘bloody History of Magic’.” McGonagall said in a dry, lofty tone, her expression somewhat smug. “Good day, Mr. Weasley.”

Ears burning at him swearing in front of McGonagall, Ron mumbled a clumsy farewell before slipping out of her office so fast he could have sworn he apparated. The halls, thankfully, were empty when he closed the door behind him, so he managed to calm himself down (and cool his ears a bit) before making his way back to the Great Hall for some well-deserved supper and maybe another late night session in the Room of Requirement. Looks like he now has more than his inner Hermione to worry about if his performance in the finals wasn’t up to standards...

But a few steps forward, his war-honed senses picked up the slightest hint of a shadow from the corner of his vision, and a touch of the slightest chill that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Arguably, it could have all been his imagination (or his nerves over his Head of House suddenly lumping such heavy scholastic expectations on his shoulders). But the thought that it could also be otherwise made Ron inwardly smirk.

Pester the professors about Quirrell’s instability. Act very concerned and scared because the rumor started with me.

“...Now that the cat is out of the bag, of course I’d be worried! I’d naturally keep asking the Professors about Quirrell, always mentioning how sorry I am that I let my worries about him go out of hand. You know, make it obvious that it’s my fault that Quirrell is being closely watched in the first place? Obvious enough that it’s most likely he’ll figure that I’m the reason behind all those rumors.

But what if the dumbarse still doesn’t work that all out? Well...”

“P—Professor Quirrell, sir?”

The Professor was in the middle of arranging some books and parchment on his table when Ron approached him, causing the jumpy wizard to accidentally shove all said items to the floor after a shocked cry. “M—Mr. W—Weasley!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Professor!” Ron made a flustered expression as he hurried to help the man pick up the fallen books. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. I—I just thought, since, well, the exams are over, it was about time I talked to you. Been meaning to for a while now, really.”

The last of the term’s finals had already come to a close, after what felt like an eternity (for most) of last minute notes reviews, essays revisions and late night study sessions. Even the first years felt the exhaustion to their bones, including Hermione, who admitted that a reprieve was appreciated.

(Although said reprieve did include going over exam questions and debating over the answers, which was not exactly Ron’s idea of relaxing.)

But while Harry, Hermione and Neville had left their classroom as soon as the exams had ended—in part, due to Harry’s persistently throbbing headache—Ron excused himself to go see Professor Quirrell, who the redhead knew was proctoring for a Third Year exam at a room a floor above theirs.

Quirrell’s brows furrowed in apparent confusion. “I—Is this a—about your e—exams, Mr. Weasley? I—If you’re w—worried about your p—performance, r—rest a—assured, you’ve done v—very well, as is e—expected of a s—student of your c—caliber.”

“Oh, that’s really nice to know, but I wanted to talk about something else.”

“S—Something else? R—Right now?”

Ron's gaze went to the floor. “I’m so sorry, Professor. I really don’t mean to be a bother, but this—I probably won’t have any more time and, and I really need to—”

The older wizard’s frown deepened. “Is—is it it th—that p—pressing a m—matter, M—Mr. Weasley?”

“I—It’s something a bit more personal, sir.” Ron paused. “Is there some place more private? I promise, won’t take too much of your time.”

The boy looked especially nervous, wringing his hands and glancing around the empty classroom occasionally, filling the forefront of his mind with so much anxiety and nervousness that Quirrell eventually acquiesced, leading the way to the vacated Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

The classroom was located at the middle of a usually occupied hallway, but given the time of day (and school year), the place and its surroundings were empty of students, staff and even ghosts. Although the trip took longer than Ron remembered, and there was a nagging sensation at the back of his head that something wasn’t quite right. Still, Ron made no mention of it to his professor, who had also taken the time to prepare some tea.

“I—I apologize for my p—poor manners, M—Mr. Weasley.” Quirrell said with a slight smile after setting a steaming cup of Earl Grey in front of Ron. “W—Was not expecting a—any g—guests any t—time soon, y—you see.”

“I should be the one who is sorry, Professor.” Ron said after lifting the offered teacup to his lips. “For causing you this trouble.”

“I—It’s q—quite all right, Mr. W—Weasley.” Quirrell answered, taking his seat behind his own desk. “Us P—Professors need to h—help our students t—the best we c—can, after all.”

Ron placed the cup back on the saucer, his eyes gloomy. “No, really, I should apologize, sir. I—err, I’m sure you’re aware, of the rumors going on about you?”

At that, Quirrell’s smile fell but kept the rest of his expression neutral. “I—I don’t think there’s a—anyone in the c—castle who has n—not heard.”

“Must have been really hard for you, sir.”

“It m—made things more, err, ch—challenging, shall we s—say? A f—feat in itself, r—really, g—given that I’m n—not one of the m—most p—popular Professors.” Quirrell looked thoughtful. “B—But wh—why mention this, M—Mr. Weasley? D—Do you p—perhaps kn—know m—more about how the r—rumors came about?”

“Th—that’s—” Ron’s hands balled into fists over his knees, his head bowed. “Professor, I’m sorry, but it was me.”

The silence in the room became so thick that it felt like the very air was sucked out of it. “B—beg your p—pardon?”

“I—I didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand, sir.” Ron stammered to explain. “I—I was just talking about what I heard to some of my friends. I didn’t mean for the whole school to find out! I was going to—”

“What did you hear exactly?” Quirrel asked sharply. Ron swallowed again.

“I heard you, Professor.” The young wizard finally got out. “I heard you, in the hallways a while back, you were—you were talking to yourself!”

Quirrell fell silent again for what felt like a long minute before he leaned back on his chair. “Is that so? Err, I a—apologize, Mr. W—Weasley. I—I just have a b—bad habit of t—talking to myself w—when I’m anxious. H—helps with the nervousness, s—see?”

“But then why did it sound so...different?”

“D—Different? H—how so?”

“Professor, you—how do I say this?” Ron wrung his hands again. “Back w—when I heard you, you sounded, scared. More so than usual. It was like in a fight with someone,” He shuddered. “Something bad.”

“Something bad?”

“You were pleading about something, couldn’t hear very well what. At first I thought it was because one of the Professors were bullying you or something. One of—some of them seem the type.” At Quirrell’s inquisitive gaze, Ron went on. “But—but Professor, what I never told anyone is that, when I said that you were hearing voices, talking all by yourself, I—I heard it too.”

“Heard what?”

“That voice, the one you were talking to.” Ron saw his Professor sit up straighter from across the desk but kept his eyes to his knees. “It was raspy, cold, and it sounded mean. Hisses a lot too, from what I remember. Reminds me of a snake.”

Quirrell inhaled sharply, but Ron continued. “I know it’s none of my business, but remember what they said about hearing voices in our world? I—I just don’t want you to get into some sort of trouble, Professor.”

The turbaned wizard chuckled. “Trouble? Where did you even get the idea that I was—?”

“I may have not heard it very well, but I know how a threat sounds like!” Ron exclaimed, finally meeting his Professor’s gaze. “Please, Professor, I know I made things worse for you, but if—if we can get you help for, whatever that was, then maybe—”

“There is nothing, Mr. Weasley—“

“I keep telling you, I know what I heard and saw! You were arguing, scared, of a voice but there was no one else there!” Ron got up, his blue eyes ablaze. “Professor McGonagall said I shouldn’t get involved anymore, but I just can’t sit back and wait when I know you need help! Whatever it is, the Professors can do something about it! Especially Professor Dumbledore! We just need to let them now, right now.”

“Oh, Mr. Weasley,” Quirrell sighed a rather pitiful sound, putting his arms around himself for a moment.

“Professor?” The boy’s brows furrowed in confusion when Quirrell hunched over, seemingly shaking. “Professor, what’s wrong? Are you—?”

But then the wizard suddenly laughed. And not just a quick chuckle or even a snort, but a series of harsh cackles. It made Ron step back, his voice confused. “Professor Quirrell?”

“Minerva was right about you. You have quite the hero complex.”

“Meddlesome boy.”

Ron’s eyes widened, taking another step back when Quirrell pushed himself up from his chair. It wasn’t a threatening action in itself, but then there was the change in the once stuttering man. Gone was any trace of warmth or nervousness in Quirrell’s pale face, his once smiling dark eyes now cold, empty, even tempered with traces of disgust and annoyance. “You must have really taken me for a fool, Mr. Weasley. Did you really think I would not have found out?”

“Y—You knew? How—?”

“You still have a lot to learn, Mr. Weasley,” tutted Quirrell. “You may have found out too much, but you not knowing what to do with that knowledge, always going back to Minerva asking for guidance, for reassurance. Your weak mindedness is what ultimately failed you.”

“I—I don’t under—“

“—stand, Mr. Weasley? Of course. For all your brilliance, you are but a child. Naiive, foolish and weak.” Quirrell practically spat the last word out. “But you also had to be a meddlesome chatterbox who is more trouble than what you're worth. Months of preparation, lying in wait while maintaining this facade of a weak, stuttering fool—all of my efforts, gone to waste because of a nosey brat who is too smart for his own good!”

“Enough talk, Quirinus.” A disembodied voice rasped from behind Quirrell.

The older wizard took a deep breath, his frown now replaced by a sharp-toothed sneer. “No matter, though. You have already made up for all the trouble you caused me by showing yourself up. Now I get to kill two birds with one stone.”

Before Ron could speak, Quirrell pulled his wand out with a sharp wave. At once, the two sole doors in the classroom slammed shut, the resulting noise reverberating all around them.

Ron narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t being threatened, were you? You...you’re in on it with, whatever that thing—!”

The next thing Ron knew, a loud crack erupted in front of him, followed by his lanky frame being slammed against a wall, pinned to the stone by some kind of force. The boy shook his head in an attempt to clear his vision from the spots clouding it.

“Use him. Use the boy.”

“You will not refer to my master as a mere thing , Mr. Weasley. A blood traitor such as yourself should not dare to speak of Him at all!” The wind was roaring in Ron’s ears as Quirrell managed to draw close enough to where the boy was pinned that they were wandpoint apart.

Ron gritted his teeth, his tense body curling away from Quirrell as much as it could. “You and that...master of yours, what are you planning?”

“Ho, aren’t you curious? But telling you would be a waste of my breath, when there is somewhere else I must be.” Quirrell sneered. “Although I must thank you, Mr. Weasley. I was wondering how to get you alone, but you walked right into my little trap yourself…” Quirrell lifted his wand. “Regretfully, your brilliant mind might not make it past what I have to do.”

“W—what? No, wait, Professor, please!” Ron shook his head furiously, eyes and lips trembling as he screamed. “Professor Quirrell, you—you don’t have to do this! I’m sorry, I—I won’t talk anymore! I won’t get in your way! I’ll—I’ll tell the other Professors I made a mistake! Please just don’t kill me!”

But Quirrell’s sneer widened further. “Unfortunately, I have no use for your pathetic words. Your body, however, will make for a very good distraction.”

The environment suddenly seemed to shift before Ron’s eyes, the familar environs of the Defense of the Dark Arts classroom morphing into something else.

“This is—“ Ron managed to choke out. “The Astronomy classroom? How did you—?”

“Magic, of course.” Quirrell answered coolly. “With a little help from your inattentiveness.”

“You were…you were really planning to trap me like this…from the beginning...” Ron choked out. “Y—You think you can just do that? Kill a student in Hogwarts?! Do you think you’ll really get away with it?!”

“You would not be the first student to get killed in Hogwarts. And you will not be the last.”

“Use him. Use the boy. Kill him.”

It was as if there was a whirlwind of magic trapped in the classroom with them. The shelves and desks remained unaffected, but books, parchment and other small items were sent swirling about as what appeared to be a dark, ominous fog seemed to emanate from the older wizard.

“Imperio.”

“Argh!” Ron jerked back his head as soon as he hit the ground when Quirrell canceled the spell keeping him pinned to the wall before casting the Imperius curse on him.

“Any last words before you jump off the tower balcony?”

“Kill him!”

But then the blackboard behind Quirrell’s desk cracked with such a loud boom that it made Quirrell jump. “What in Morgana’s—?”

It was then that all the fear and confusion slid out of Ron’s face, his body relaxing, his expression turning grave and determined.

“Tell...your spineless piece of troll shite...of a master,” the nineteen-turned-twelve year old wizard said with barely restrained fury, making Quirrell turn back to him once again. “To go...fuck himself.”

SNAP! CRACK! BOOM!

Make Quirrell meet me alone, then provoke Quirrell into attacking me.

 

“Quirrell may be a cowardly, underhanded snake, but he’s a smart one, so I’m sure he’ll be able to come up with a new way to shake the Professors’ eyes to get the stone after the exams.

But two things he won’t count on: me delaying him, and me admitting to being the source of the rumors in the first place. Then once he finds out, he’ll have to deal with me being a nosy little brat.”

“Master Ronald! Master Ronald!”

Ron waved a hand from where he was on the floor, having fallen into a heap once Quirrell’s spell on him was broken. “Just have a bit of a headache, is all.” Bloody Quirrell didn’t have to slam me against the wall so hard! And to think he actually used the—ouch! What the—? When he felt a sting on his left cheek reaching to press on his left temple, he drew his hand back to see blood. Shite, did he just cut my face?

He opened his eyes to meet worried big brown ones. “I’m fine, Noddy. Good work catching my signal.” Should have picked a shorter one, but the chance to tell Voldemort to go fuck himself is just too perfect to pass up.

From next to him, Noddy wrung her hands anxiously. “Oooh, Noddy is being so scared, master Ronald! Noddy is not knowing that the bad man is being so dangerous!”

Ron winced guiltily. He had been prepared for the possibility of Quirrell getting rid of him, but he hadn’t thought that the wizard would go this far to lay such a convoluted trap. A trap that, from what Ron could tell, consisted of several Disillusionment charms, a spell to muddle his senses (a wordless Confudus, perhaps?), a spell to lock him in, and finally, the Imperio. Good thing he didn’t actually take some of the tea. Who knows what Quirrell put in there?

“I’m sorry for putting you in so much—”

“Noddy is not being worried about Noddy! Noddy is being worried about you, master Ronald!” Noddy pointed at Quirrell. “That bad man is reeking with the foul magic! And Noddy is hearing of two voices when Noddy is making him back away with Noddy’s magic!”

The turbaned professor was currently crumpled onto the floor, having been sent by Noddy to the blackboard when she unleashed her magic once Ron said the cue they previously discussed, which Ron would only say once Noddy sent her own signal—the shattering of the blackboard.

And Noddy was only supposed to do that when…

BLAG!

“...Mr. Weasley?!”

Ron turned to meet the confused, no horrified, eyes of his Head of House. “Professor McGonagall!”

The old Professor looked quite ruffled, her heavy breathing rather audible and some of her hair slightly slipping out of her tight bun as she hurried towards Ron. “My goodness, Mr. Weasley, what on earth happened? I got word that you were—”

But Ron saw Quirrell struggling to get up from the corner of his vision, and wasted no time shouting. “It was Professor Quirrell! He—He tried to kill me!”

“Quirinus?!” It was seemingly only then that McGonagall noticed her fellow Professor. “Merlin, Quirinus, what is the meaning of this?”

Quirrell, upon realizing that one of the other Professors had come, paled considerably. “M—Minerva, I—I can explain—!”

“Don’t listen to him, Professor!” Ron pointed an accusing finger at the trembling man. Great, now that he’s busted, he’s going back to the bumbling oaf act! Grow a fucking backbone, you tosser! “I—I was just talking to him about the rumors. I know you said I should just let it go, and maybe I should have, but that doesn’t give him the right to try to kill me!” Ron put on a terrified expression as he gripped McGonagall’s arm. “He said he was going to make me jump from the Astronomy Tower!”

“M—Minerva, please—”

“Master Ronald is telling the truth!” Noddy squeaked, jumping from her hiding place behind Ron. “Noddy is having heard it all, Deputy Headmistress! That bad man is threatening to hurt master Ronald, so Noddy is using magic to protect him. But…” Noddy’s ears drooped. “Master Ronald is still hurt…”

Before Ron could reassure the poor dutiful House Elf that he wasn’t that hurt, a grating, disembodied voice roared. “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

FUCK! There were a few screams of terror and disbelief, but the veteran in Ron kicked into action, harshly tugging at Noddy and pushing McGonagall out of the way of the green light of death.

McGonagall, to her credit, was quick to shove Ron, who was holding Noddy, behind her, wand already drawn even though her face was still pale with shock. “Quirinus, did you just use the Killing Curse? On a student?!”

But Quirrell, instead of turning back into the cold, sneering man who would have killed Ron without a second thought earlier, was instead gasping and trembling on the floor, his hand gripping the arm that held his wand. His face was a twisted picture of frustration and desperation as he shouted back. “No! This was not how—! Master, please, let me—ARGH!”

“I have no time for any more of your failures! Kill them now and bring me what I seek!”

Ron felt McGonagall flinch at the sound of that disembodied voice, so full of hate and rage. But while she turned her head to look for the source, Ron kept his on the pleading Quirrell. “Master, please—! We only need the boy! Only the boy—!”

“You hesitate, Quirinus? You would shame your master with such weakness?”

“But Master—Minerva, she is— ARGH! ”

“QUIRINUS!” McGonagall gasped in obvious concern as Quirrell cried out and doubled over in pain. But when the old Professor was about to approach him, the man got up in an uncomfortably, jerky fashion, his wand arm yanking itself out of the hand holding it before shoving forward. Quirrell screamed. “Minerva, no! STOP!”

“AVADA KEDA—!”

“NO!” Ron brought out his wand and roared. “EXPELLIARMUS!”

“STUPEFY!”

There was another loud crack, one so strong that Ron had to raise an arm to shield himself from the resulting rushing wind that resulted from the combination of several spells from himself, McGonagall, and the others who just entered the room.

“Minerva!” A sharp cry from Ron’s waist made him turn to see the newcomers, just as Minerva exclaimed. “Filius! Pomona!” At the same time, Noddy perked up when she saw another female House Elf, this time with red hair as bright as a Weasley’s, smaller but sharper pointed ears, and slanted green eyes. “Gingersnap!”

At the sight of her fellow House Elf, Gingersnap immediately popped next to Noddy and clung to her arm before giving Ron a shy wave, her large eyes shining questioningly.

The boy wizard smiled approvingly before mouthing “good work” to the other Elf.

While he asked Noddy to keep an eye on him during his meeting with Quirrell, it was Gingersnap’s job to look for the nearest professor as soon as Professor Quirrell turned violent. Noddy personally recommended the younger House Elf for the job, since “Gingersnap is being one of the best House Elves in apparating and listening in to goings-on. She is being what you is calling a reconnaissance Elf before she is coming to Hogwarts as House Elf staff.”

Once this all blows over, he’ll find a way to thank all the Hogwarts House Elves properly. Maybe an improptu tea time party? He knew Noddy and at least a couple others who are especially fond of those...

“Oh my word, Minerva! Mr. Weasley!” A white-faced Sprout quickly made her way to the two Gryffindors. “Are you two all right?”

“Fine, Pomona.” McGonagall answered shortly, not keeping her eyes off Quirrell, who was back on the floor, coughing and groaning. She fired another stunning spell at him to knock him out cold. “I take it Gingersnap called you as well?”

“Popped right into my office, and then I ran into Pomona.” Flitwick explained, his expression as grave as McGonagall’s. “My word, just what has happened to you, Quirinus?”

“We can talk more later. Right now, we need to get Mr. Weasley to safety.” McGonagall gave Sprout a nod. “Could you, Pomona? I’d do it myself, but—“

“Not a problem, Minerva,” answered Sprout cheerfully. “It’s only right that you are here while Albus is away. Besides, you’re a far better duelist than I’ll ever be.”

Ron’s frown returned with a vengeance. “Professor Dumbledore’s not here?”

“Official business with the Ministry, dear.” Sprout said with a reassuring smile. “Now come along, Mr. Weasley. Elf friends.” She gave his arm a gentle tug as McGonagall and Flitwick worked to keep the unconscious Quirrell bound.

“Where is his wand?” Flitwick suddenly asked. “I heard someone disarm him?”

“Oh, err, that might have been me.” Ron said with a feebly raised hand. “Although I think I used too much force? I saw it fly out the window.”

“All the better.” McGonagall said, her lips thinned. “Gingersnap, I will need you to call some more of my fellow staff, notably Professor Snape. Once Quirrell is properly detained, I will need to inform the Ministry and Albus.“

“And I’ll be taking this little trouble magnet to the Infirmary.” Sprout laughed before ruffling Ron’s unruly red hair when the boy glared. “No offense meant, dear boy.”

Ron put on a mock scowl again but supposed he deserved that, after everything he had been involved in this year. And, Merlin help him, there are six more years left...

Still, Ron couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped him at the sight of Quirrell (and hopefully, Voldemort as well) knocked out cold. Thank Merlin things worked out for me this time, huh?

Have one of the House Elves call one of the professors to catch Quirrell in the act. And get Quirrell detained

 

“But don’t worry, just before it gets too dangerous for anyone, Noddy and the others will go get the nearest Professors.” Ron quickly reassured his windcaller friend. “It’s part of their duty to ensure the students’ safety after all. It won’t be suspicious if they just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Not to mention, House Elf magic is its own kind of wicked!”

“RON!”

Said red haired wizard nearly jumped a foot off his bed when his Infirmary bed curtains were parted with a harsh snap, his blue eyes looking up to meet a pair of burning emeralds. “Err, hullo, Harry?”

Behind the obviously frazzled Harry Potter, Hermione and Neville’s faces popped out, both looking pale and distressed.

“Merlin, Ron, what happened to you?” Neville fretted as soon as the three Gryffindors sat down around their injured friend. “We keep our eyes off you for a minute, and the next thing we heard, you got into a fight?”

“It was not a fight. I hardly did anything.” Ron sighed tiredly, resisting the temptation to scratch at his left cheek, which Pomfrey had already covered with a layer of rough gauze. Bloody hell, Hogwarts rumor mill may be a fast gossip churning machine, but a lot is still left to be desired in terms of its accuracy. “I was just going to have a word with Professor Quirrell, but then the man went barmy and tried to, err, something. Anyway, the Professors and a couple of House Elves helped me out, so they got him detained.” He pointed at his gauze covered cheek. “Besides, I didn’t get hurt too badly this time. It was just a nick on the face!”

Harry, Hermione and Neville all looked at each other in horror and disbelief.

“Professor Quirrel attacked you?” Hermione said in a hushed whisper. “The Professor Quirrell? But that doesn’t make any sense! He’s—he’s not exactly—!”

“The violent type? Turns out the bumbling, clumsy oaf thing was just an act.” Ron then carried on to explain his encounter with Quirrell in more detail, including the fact that he was the source of the rumors about Quirrell, but not the fact that the man was planning to do more than just cut Ron up in the face. The last bit wasn’t really a significant detail, after all, in Ron’s opinion.

Besides, from the looks of his friends’ faces, the edited version of the events appeared to be already a lot to take in for them.

“Oh my God,” Hermione’s hands were on her mouth, eyes glossy. “Ron, why didn’t you say something?”

“I wanted to,” Ron grimaced. “But I didn’t know how to at the time. Then suddenly the rumors just took off, and I, I didn’t want anyone else to find out that I started it until I knew what to do next. I...I didn’t think it would turn out like this.” Which technically was not a lie, so…

“Ron,” Neville said grimly. “You know as well as I do that hearing voices in our world is always a bad thing. I thought it was possible that Professor Quirrell could be ill, but as we know now, it could also be due to something more foul. Like Dark magic.”

Harry, who had been quiet up until this point, wheeled a sharp stare at Neville. “Dark magic?”

The stare was enough to make the nervous Longbottom quail. “W—Well, think about it. If Ron’s cut was just, err, that, Madame Pomfrey could easily fix it with a wand wave. Really, I would know. But she went through all the trouble of bandaging it. Either the cut is a lot worse than Ron is telling us, or that cut was made by something that counters traditional healing magic.”

The time traveller groaned, frustrated yet also proud of Neville. He should not be surprised. Not only had Neville shown that he was just as intelligent and quick-witted as his friends (both in the past and current life), but he also had, as of the moment, more experience in the workings of the wizarding world than Harry or Hermione.

“Nev’s right.” Ron sighed tiredly once more, now that he was the one under the heat of Harry's glare. “Truth is, she couldn’t magic the cut closed because something was interfering with her spell so she needed to make a potion first. She didn’t say it outright, but I could tell that it was Dark magic of some sort.” He shot Harry an apologetic glance. “I remember sensing the same thing back at the Forbidden Forest.”

It was an exaggeration—he never saw Quirrel in the forest with the unicorns, after all—but it was Ron’s way of nudging Harry to the right direction.

Something Harry, obvious from the way he frowned thoughtfully, took into great consideration. “You said earlier, that Quirrell mentioned he was planning something. He and his Master.” His green eyes shone with trepidation. “Do you lot think it’s about the Stone?”

Hermione inhaled sharply. “If it were, then it would make a lot of sense. What else is here in Hogwarts worth taking from under Professor Dumbledore’s nose?”

I could think of a few more things. Ron gave Harry another glance as Hermoine went on. “But then that also means that he must be behind Hagrid getting Norbert. Maybe even getting the Troll in?”

“That’s true.” Neville nodded. “Trolls wouldn’t be able to break into Hogwarts wards themselves. Having a Professor let them in is a more plausible explanation. And there are wizards who are gifted in communicating with magical creatures...”

"We were talking about it over by the lake, after we split up earlier." Hermione added for Ron's benefit, narrating what happened with him, Hermione and Neville at the lake, which went almost the same way Harry figuring out Quirrell giving Hagrid the dragon egg in the past.

Ron knew he had to pretend to be surprised by all this, so, "Why that bloody wanker! All that shite just to figure out how to get past Fluffy!"

"We still don't know if it's Professor Quirrell though," said Neville diplomatically, but even his attempt at defending the man was audibly token at best. Something Hermione was quick to shoot down.

“It's all but confirmed at this point, Neville, considering his actions towards Ron, and recalling everything about him in hindsight. There's also what Quirrel said about having a master?" Hermione bit her lip before turning to Ron, who shook his head. “He didn’t say who it was, but he did mention that a blood traitor like me has no right to speak of him."

Ron paused for a bit before saying, "I might be jumping to conclusions a bit here, but as far as I remember, there’s only one fu—bastard who gives so much shite about blood purity, who others have called Master.” Ron paused. “Sometimes even, the Dark Lord?”

At that, Neville sat up straighter, Hermione let out a frightened squeak and Harry’s gaze hardened. “You mean Volde—?”

"AAAAAAHHHH!"

The discussion was interrupted by a garble of screams, so loud that it did make Hermione jump out of her seat. “Merlin, what in the world was that?!”

The boys looked at each other before Harry got up from his own chair first. “It came from the hallway.”

A cold ball formed in Ron’s stomach as he got up to get dressed. “Whatever that was sounds really important. We need to find out.”

“Ron, you can’t—“

“It’s just a scratch, Hermione. I’m fine.” Ron said shortly after sliding his robes back on. “So are we leaving or what?”

Harry gave him a blatant frustrated look but did not protest any further as the four friends made their way to the Infirmary entrance. Barely a few steps away, they had to jump back when the doors burst open and a loud voice called out. “POPPY!”

Harry, Neville and Ron let out a gasp while Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth for the second time that day.

There was Hui supporting Flitwick, Pince with Durand, and an unfamiliar staff member—a tall, wide shouldered man with auburn hair with blood red tips—being supported by both Sprout and, to Ron’s surprise, Trelawney. The man was the only one conscious among those being supported, but barely.

Before Ron and his friends could react though, Pomfrey came running, her expression of fierce determination.

“This way, Pomona, everyone. Children, I’ll need to ask you to clear the way.” Pomfrey then pinned Ron with a glare. “And you, Mr. Weasley, return to your cot. I’ll see to you once the potion is done.”

“But—“ Hermione wrung her hands worriedly as the adults brushed past them. “Wh—what’s happening? Professor Flitwick, and Professor Durand, why are they—?”

“They were attacked.” The bushy haired girl let out a shrill cry of shock when a deep, but tired sounding voice answered to her left. Neville’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Professor Imhotep!”

Imhotep smiled at Neville in greeting before his face turned serious. “Young ones, I will need you to stay in here while we deal with the situation. Keep the doors locked and do not let anyone else inside.”

“But Professor, just what is going on—?”

BANG! BANG!

Several loud crashes could be heard echoing from the hallways, followed by more screaming and thumps.

Imhotep let out a string of foreign sounding curses that Ron did not catch as he whirled around, wand aloft. “Why did that thing decide to come here?!”

“Professor!” But Imhotep took off before Ron could ask anything, and the grim air hanging around him shook Ron to the core.

What the fuck is happening? Why is this happening? We caught Quirrell before he could get to the Stone! So why are things going fucking south so much fucking worse than last time? It was then that a bolt of insight struck Ron hard in the gut. Unless...don’t tell me…!

RRROOOOOOAAAARRRR!

Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth as Neville stumbled back, face once again pale. “That sounded...just like a…”

…Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!

“Ron?” He heard Harry choke out when the other boy sped past him and out of the Infirmary. “RON! RON, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU—?!”

“It’s Quirrell, Harry!” Ron shouted over his shoulder as he broke into a run for the Forbidden Corridor. “Quirrell’s escaped and he’s after the Stone!”

“WHAT?!” Harry thundered, already hot on his heels before Hermione and Neville rushed to follow. “Then we need to tell the Professors—!”

“No time! In case you haven’t heard that roar, they’ll obviously be having their hands full with another bloody troll!” Ron skidded in an attempt to run up the stairs, half aware of his friends barely being within earshot of him.

He had no idea how, but Quirrel definitely managed to get away from the other Professors and somehow called for the troll. Or maybe it was the other way around? Perhaps Quirrell may have even had the troll ready beforehand, just in case?

Ron cursed a mile in his head. “He’s already got a huge head start. We have to—!”

THUD! THUD! THUD!

“Fuck!” The ground was suddenly shaking, making Ron nearly fall face flat on the steps had he not taken hold of the railing. He had just managed to prop himself up when he heard Harry scream. “RON, RUN!’

What? Why would—? His nose then picked up that familiar, sickeningly disgusting stench.

“...But what if, despite all that, Quirrell still manages to get away?” Ron blew a breath. “Merlin, I hope not, what with the Professors being there. But if does come to that, there’s only one move we can make...”

Ron didn’t need to turn around to know what was standing right behind him, twelve hulking feelt of massive grey with a club as long as he was. Instead, he focused his energy on getting to his feet before said club finds him as a target.

“RON!”

“MR. WEASLEY!”

“RON, GET OUT THE WAY!”

“RON!”

Shite! Shite! Shite! Shite! The nineteen-turned-twelve year old pushed hard against the wooden stairs, fumbling for his wand in the process. Ah, fuck it all!

IF ALL ELSE FAILS, HELP HARRY GET SAFELY PAST THE TRAPS GUARDING THE STONE

Happy Christmas, everyone!

Thanks for the taking the time to read this chapter! Please don't hesitate to give me any feedback, as I am especially nervous about how this chapter will be received. (I know I say it all the time, but it is especially true for this one) And I apologize if I am not able to respond to all the comments, but rest assured I do read them, and do take the reviews in much consideration. Lastly, know that I am very grateful for everyone's words and show of support. You guys are amazing!

UP NEXT: The conclusion to the race for the Philosopher’s Stone, mostly told from Ron being stuck in an Infirmary bed (which probably has his name on it already at this point). In other news, there’s a feast, a furious Marauder (or two), some goodbyes and a few more surprises as our time traveller wraps up Year One.

Chapter Text

So this was supposed to be posted last March, but my internet hates me. :(

But hopefully my internet will be fixed by April so I won't have problems on that front.

Thank you again to everyone who read/reviewed/added TBA to their faves/follows! Thank you also to my beta acnelli who stuck with the most of TBA Year One. This fanfic won't be half as cohesive as it is now if it weren't for her efforts. TBA and I will miss you. *hugs*

Chapter Seventeen:

The Fool's Folly

Ron awoke to the warmth of sunlight poking his cheeks.

It struck him as odd. It had been months since he awoke way past sunrise. Did he forget to set his alarm charm last night? Highly unlikely, since doing so has been second nature to him at this point.

But when he opened his bleary eyes, his confusion was replaced by alarm when he noticed the absence of his drawn crimson bed curtains.

Wait, what? He abruptly sat up, all sleepiness gone from his system as he took in his surroundings again. Where was he?

It took him a few more seconds of staring at the white drapes surrounding the bed he was on, the white sheets draped over him, and the other beds lined up in front of him against familiar faded stone walls that comprehension dawned to him.

This is...the Hospital Wing. Again. Ron realized. But how did I get here? When did I get here? And why am I even—?

"Good morning, Ron."

The boy nearly jumped out of the bed at the soft, old voice that spoke from his left. He turned to see a pair of twinkling eyes behind half-moon spectacles. "P—Professor Dumbledore—?"

But a sudden fit of hacking coughs burst from his throat, which he only now realized felt very dry, as if someone ground it against sand and gravel. He opened his mouth to try to ask for something to drink, when a glass of water with a straw came into his view.

"Th—thank you, sir." Ron said after taking a quick, soothing sip.

"Happy to help, Ron. How are you feeling?"

Ron did a quick mental check, now that the initial adrenaline rush had passed. "My throat still feels a bit rough, and my head's still pounding. I feel really knackered for some reason."

Dumbledore nodded. "I am not surprised, knowing what happened two days ago with Quirinus."

"Two days ago? With—?" As if those words triggered something in his mind, Ron was suddenly bombarded by memories and information that it made him gasp. Bollocks, how could he forget?

"Professor, I remember! The troll! The stone! Harry!"

He felt a warm hand gently take his, and it was only then that Ron saw that he had unconsciously grabbed onto Dumbledore's arm. The older wizard eased said hand onto the bed as he answered. "They are fine. Harry is fine, as is the rest of your friends. You are the only one left in the Hospital Wing after that incident."

Fine. Harry's fine. He's safe. Quirrell...Voldemort...they didn't get him. But Ron couldn't let himself breathe in relief just yet. "And the stone? Sir?"

"Ah, that." Dumbledore paused before catching Ron's gaze. "That is what I wished to talk to you about."

Blue eyes quickly fell to the hands he twisted on his lap. "I—I'm sorry, sir. I know we shouldn't have—"

"No need to worry about that anymore, dear boy. It is all in the past." Dumbledore said gently. "That said, I am curious as to what had happened. And I trust you have questions as well?"

Ron nodded. After clearing his head some more, he understood that Dumbledore asking was inevitable. "Where should I start? Did Professor McGonagall tell you about what happened with me and Quirrell."

The man's expression darkened for a brief moment. "Up to the point when Pomona had taken you to the Hospital Wing."

"But he escaped, didn't he?" When it looked like Dumbledore would not elaborate beyond his solemn nod, Ron continued. "So Professor Sprout brought me to the Hospital Wing. Harry, Hermione and Neville saw me afterwards. We were there talking when we heard about the troll attack, then saw some of the Professors who got hurt. That's when I, we, thought, that Quirrell could have escaped as well and is after the stone."

"So you went to try and stop him?"

"Yes. But on the way, I tripped on the stairs, where the troll caught up to me. And then..."

"PROTEGO!"

There was a crack and a loud roar as the troll was sent stumbling back by the recoil when his club hit an invisible wall around Ron.

The red head blinked, staring blankly ahead in bemusement. A shield charm? Who—?

He then felt hands grab both his arms, forcing his to his feet and up the stairs. He was about to shout when he heard a familiar voice urge him. "—on, Ron! Up! Get up!"

The boy followed the command out of instinct as the shaky grip on his arms managed to drag him to his feet. A pale freckled face floated into view as he braced a hand against a solid chest for support.

"G—George? What are you doing here?"

"Hullo to you too." His brother managed a shaky smile. "And we were looking for you, actually."

"We?"

There was another roar from the very angry troll downstairs, and before Ron could look away from George to see, he heard another, closer voice shout, "MOVE!", before he and George were roughly pushed back. They landed into a pile a good distance away from where the troll managed to land his club on where he and his brother were most likely standing earlier. If they had been a second too late...

Ron winced at the way the two pairs of hands on his shoulders tightened to the point of pain. Wait, two pairs of hands?

"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"

The spell was cast in several, quick succession from downstairs, causing the troll to cry out in pain before its coconut shaped head wheeled to the direction of its source.

Professor Imhotep. Ron recognized the voice from somewhere in the troll's right, but the monster's large body blocked the older wizard from his view. It also blocked the bright flare of a Lumos Maxima that went straight for the troll's open eyes, making it scream in pain as it dropped its club to block the light with its large arms...

"—for Merlin's sake, Ron, stop watching and get up!"

Ron let out an undignified yelp when he was forcefully hauled to his feet. His attempt to glare at the speaker fell slack when he recognized who it was. "Fred?"

"Yes, I'm Fred. He's George. Now can we get the bloody hell out of here before that smelly blither remembers we're here?" Fred did not even wait for Ron to get a word in as he and George dragged the confused boy down the hall.

"But why are you both here? And were you the one who used the shield charm?"

"Looking for you, like what George just said. And not the time to ask, little brother."

"But that's a NEWT level spell! Why would you know—?"

"Ron! Fred! George!"

Ron sighed in relief when he saw Harry running towards them, Hermione and Neville behind him. "You lot all right?"

Hermione nodded quickly. "Professor Imhotep, he, he managed to distract the troll so we could run past it." She said between deep, shaky breaths. "And we should be the one asking you! You're the one who just got out of the Hospital Wing."

"Hospital Wing?!" The twins chorused from behind Ron, making him grimace.

"Relax. It's not a big—OI!" But before he could finish reassuring the two, George turned him around so they were eye to eye. Judging by the way the younger twin's expression slackened, it was only just now that he registered the bandage covering his face.

Fred's countenance, on the other hand, darkened considerably upon seeing it. "What the fuck happened?"

The acidic venom in his brother's tone made Ron involuntarily flinch, not because he hadn't known that Fred could be capable of anger to such a degree. But because, what is he even getting angry over? This is just a scratch! A realization then occurred to him. Right, maybe that's it. He wouldn't be able to tell with the bandage in the way, Ronald. Obviously.

So, naturally, he quickly ripped it off.

"Ron—!"

"What are you—?"

"It's fine. See? It's just a nick." The red head said over his friends' protests, gesturing at the cut on his cheek. "It'll be fine. Madame Pomfrey just hadn't had the time to fix it yet because of that stinky blither."

The older teen's face however turned into a sickly sort of grey, which was so far from the reaction Ron hoped for, and then to a dark shade of red. Fred opened his mouth to speak (or most likely, yell) but his twin beat him to it.

"That's...not just a scratch, Ron." George gingerly ran a finger along the edges of the wound's length, the cracked, frustrated tone made Ron's insides freeze and twist all over. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen the injury on his face himself. Maybe ripping off that bandage wasn't such a brilliant idea after all.

"I—It's not? Err, I mean, it'll heal anyway. It's not—it's not as bad as it looks. Honest. It barely hurts too! And—"

"How did you even get it?" Fred asked again, though his tone was noticeably softer now, but it just made Ron feel worse. He'd rather Fred be angry than...well, this.

There was also the fact that he can't answer the question yet. As well as the unintentional reminder that he had more things to worry about that just a cut on the face.

"I—It was an accident." Ron scowled when Harry scoffed loudly before giving his brothers an apologetic look. "It's complicated. I'll explain later. But we really need to go."

George stared confusedly at them. "Go where?"

Before anyone else could say anything, Ron heard several footfalls behind them. The group turned to see students from different Houses running downstairs. None of them stopped to explain anything, or even bothered looking at them, as they sped past their group who looked at each other in confusion until Fred managed to grab one of the Gryffindors by the arm to ask what was going on.

"Professors made an announcement. All the students to the Great Hall," was the curt reply before the Gryffindor was let go.

That gave Ron an idea.

"...I told the twins that we were all on the way to the Great Hall. Harry and the others somehow just agreed to ride with whatever I said, thank Merlin."

Dumbledore nodded. "So you went there with your brothers and friends. And afterwards?"

"There was a lot of folks there. And by the time we managed to join the Gryffindor line, we ran off again after Fred and George got distracted by Lee..." Ron felt especially guilty about that. He knew he had much to apologize for to the twins after. He still owed them the story behind his cut.

Them and Perce, because he was sure his Prefect brother will definitely find out about this somehow.

Ron rubbed a hand over his face at the thought. Merlin help him when his brothers inevitably come running for answers.

He felt a hand clap his shoulder, saw Dumbledore's smiling face soft with sympathy.

"They're going to murder me, aren't they?"

"Of course not." The Headmaster reassured him a tad too cheerfully.

Ron forced the wince off his face before carrying on. "Anyway, after that, we managed to get to the Forbidden Corridor. Quirrell was already past Fluffy, thanks to the harp. Luckily, Harry's got his flute."

The younger wizard's blue eyes fell to his hands again...

The traps and enchantments were the same as Ron remembered from the past, thank Merlin. At least his foreknowledge was still useful in this front.

There was also the benefit of having a fourth member in their team this time around.

It was Neville who immediately recognized Devil Snare for what it was before Hermione could, and even taught the group how to effectively escape the trap without setting the thing on fire.

Although it wasn't exactly any easier ("Just relax. The vines get more agitated the more your struggle." Neville coached them from below the Devil Snare nest, having already escaped their clutches. "Once you lie still, the snare will slacken and let you go.") but they all managed to escape in the end.

Then there was the room with the flying keys. After Ron identified the key they needed to catch ("Old fashioned, silver like the handle, most likely with a damaged wing since it had to be used at least once."), Harry managed to catch it in record time. After letting the battered old key fly back to its brethren, the quadro made their way into a wide room that remained dark until the double doors they went through closed with a loud slam.

Torches flared to life, illuminating a very familiar sight before Ron's eyes.

Merlin, here we go again.

 

"...Ah, Minerva's chess set. I heard that you were the one who played this particular challenge?"

"I had to. The others weren't exactly great at it."

"When she found out, Minerva did not know whether to be angry or proud." Dumbledore chuckled. "I had not seen her so confused since that time I offered to trade the nice pair of socks she got from the wizard crackers for a new wizards chess set."

Ron snorted. Not that I blame her. If Professor McGonagall was as passionate about chess as he remembered , it must have been irritating that someone would think a wizards chess set is only worth a pair of socks.

Then again, Professor Dumbledore seemed to really love his socks...

"Then you challenged Minerva's chess set. How was it?"

"Amazing, and a bloody pain in the arse. Professor McGonagall is definitely brilliant at chess," said Ron. "We had to take the places of some pieces to play though. Harry was a bishop; Hermione was a rook; then Neville and I were knights. I...I barely remember how it went. All I had in mind was that I had to win while keeping my friends safe. Because it's wizards chess. I didn't want to risk them getting hurt." He let out a bitter laugh. "We both know how that turned out..."

They were almost there. The board was nearly cleared out of pieces from both sides. The most powerful piece left on the white side of the board was the Queen. The king was open for a deciding check. It was just like how it was in the first life as well.

Well, almost. There was just one very crucial difference.

"Ron?" He heard Harry's worried call from behind him. It had been a while since white called out its move, after all.

"Is everything all right, Ron?" Hermione prompted from her square, wringing her chalk dusted hands as she eyed the intimidating white Queen.

"Fine. It's fine. Just let me think." Ron bit his lip as he went over the board again. No, that can't be it. That can't be the only play he had left. He had gone so far already without letting anyone get hurt. Had he actually screwed up and failed to anticipate this?

Fuck, this can't be it. There has to be another—

"Ron." The freckled wizard flinched when he heard Neville from his right. Noted the resigned tone his friend used. It made his lungs seize.

He knows.

"I can't." Ron said shakiyl. "Nev...I can't."

"Can't what?" Hermione repeated, sharing a confused look with Harry. "Ron, Neville? What is it?"

Neville ignored her in favor of staring straight at Ron's blue eyes. "I'm not as brilliant in chess as you are, but I know a good opportunity when I see it." He smiled slightly. "I did spend years playing a bit with Nan."

"But that would mean—"

"I know. And you have to let it happen." Neville bit his lip before meeting Ron's gaze with a determined glare. "Let her take me."

"What?!" Harry gasped from his own square. "Nev, you can't mean—!"

"That's why Ron is hesitating. He knows I need to be taken by the queen so you can check the king, Harry."

"N—No, Neville! There must be another way!"

"There isn't, Hermione. And if there were, it would take even longer and who knows what else to get there?" Neville reasoned. "This is chess! Chess is always about sacrifice! Do you lot want to stop Quirrell or not?!"

"Neville..." Ron shut his eyes for a moment to steel himself before opening them again. "When the Queen comes for you, brace yourself. Guard your head and curl yourself up as much as you can when you hit the ground. Got it?"

The chubby boy swallowed, but despite his steadily paling face, nodded grimly.

Harry growled in frustration while Hermione let out a sob.

Ron let out another breath.

Chess is about sacrifice. Life is about sacrifice. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but he did need the reminder.

Neville, you really are a true Gryffindor.

 

"Then the queen knocked Neville out and dragged him to where the other black pieces are. And Harry was free to take that checkmate."

Dumbledore nudged his glasses up his nose. "A brilliant play, indeed. A demonstration of the bravery and skill you four possess."

"What skill?" Ron said bitterly. "If I had been better, then Neville wouldn't have had to sacrifice himself."

"The fact that you managed to take your friends so far into the game without losing any of them is already a monumental achievement. Defending one king is already challenging enough, but four of them? It speaks volumes of your prodigious ability." Dumbledore gave Ron's arm a squeeze. "You have fought far beyond expectations, Ron. No one thinks otherwise, not even Minerva. And especially not her. In fact, I daresay your game made such a strong impression on her, you could receive a challenge sometime soon!"

"And Neville, sir?"

"Minerva made it so that the chess pieces will cause non-fatal injuries to human players." Dumbledore reassured him. "Mr. Longbottom only had a minor concussion as the worst of it."

Ron couldn't help but smile a bit at that. He was still frustrated at himself, but at least Neville was OK.

He continued his story. "We had to leave Neville behind. I'm sure that's what he would have wanted anyway. We went past another room, but it was empty. Although, judging by how it smelled, I think the troll that attacked from before used to be there?"

"An astute observation. The troll was Quirinus' contribution to the Stone's protections." Dumbledore sighed. "He claimed that the troll attack from last Halloween was one of its tribe members looking for it, and he hadn't been able to reach it in time to negotiate. It was obviously a ruse."

Ron nodded. " We went past that room then right into the one with the seven bottles."

Dumbledore smiled. "Severus' challenge."

"And Hermione's to solve. Thank Merlin we had her. She solved it like it was nothing." The boy then frowned. "But there was only one potion that could take us through the fire onwards, and one more to go back. Which meant one of us had to stay behind."

"Not necessarily. Though I suppose not explaining it properly was part of Severus' plan." Dumbledore said. "The bottle with the potion for the purple flames refills automatically after it is set back down the table. It is the potion for the black flames that does not. It will only do so once the room is reset, so to speak."

"You mean once the room is empty and the next ones to take the test come in?"

"Exactly. And yet you managed to get past the flames." It was a prompt for further explanation. The young wizard paused to gather his thoughts for a good one.