Chapter Text
4
The sharp cry that cut through the morning was in equal parts gruff and shrieky. It reminded Ron of the cries of an elderly baby, if such a thing even made sense. He watched the source wiggle its limbs while it made an arch over the garden, resembling a flying potato. It wasn’t until the grisly gnome landed, on the other side of the fence, that Ron turned away with the smallest of flinches.
Pitiful. Bet I could’ve doubled that distance in my older body.
Ron picked up a new gnome, which swore as freely as the first one. This time around, however, he managed to get it a feet or two further away.
“Is that the best you can do?” George asked with a grin. He and Fred were both sending most of their gnomes to the hill on the edge of the orchard, a good ten feet beyond Ron’s farthest. Like him, they were saddled with extra chores by their mother after last week’s incident, but they were making the best out of it by turning the de-gnoming into a competition.
“You gits are leaving me all the heavy ones,” he grumbled.
“Rubbish. Ours are just as stocky. It’s you who can’t measure up.”
Ron remained silent. The phrase hadn’t been ill-meaning, but it brought back a sour memory.
Saul Croaker doesn’t believe I can measure up either, he thought bitterly. Fat chance of him changing his mind after the whole mess with the car.
The next gnome that left Ron’s hands had Croaker’s face on it—or at least that’s how he pictured it. The nasty little bugger had a wide enough head, and one could argue that it was only missing the glasses to be a perfect match. With pent-up fury, Ron flung the gnome away, managing to throw it closer to the others, yet still not quite there.
George nudged Fred with his elbow, who shook his head in amusement.
Ron huffed, ignoring them.
So what if I don’t measure up? What if I can’t throw gnomes that far, or if I’m not the best choice to save the ruddy timeline? I’m what we’ve got—which isn’t that bad, all things considered.
Even as he searched for another gnome to throw, Ron tried to convince himself he was doing fine. It had been almost a year since he fell into that bloody time-travelling rabbit hole. Since then, his obstacles seemed to have doubled and his enemies felt far trickier than he’d first believed. Nevertheless, he was more experienced with this time rubbish now, and if he started doubting himself, this second push at Hogwarts would only turn complicated. And he still had that diary to sort out. No, doubting was easy, he couldn’t have that now.
Sure, I might not be the best there is—as that uppish tosser of Croaker said—but I might as well be enough.
“Um, Ron?” Harry asked, startling Ron. “This might be a stupid question but— Are gnomes like house-elves?”
Ron paused. “Not really. They’re half as tall, and nowhere near as pale. I wager you can also notice the shorter ears.”
“I do, yeah, but their skin is wrinkled like elves, and, well, they can also talk.”
“Barely,” said one of the twins.
Harry threw his gnome, then lifted another one. The boy had been told by Ron’s mother that the extra chores didn’t apply to him, but he’d insisted on helping. His gnome grunted and shouted “Geroff! Geroff!” but nothing more elaborate than that. Ron knew gnomes’ language was mostly mimicking. A step or two above parrots.
“Listen, mate. Elves are beings. Gnomes are technically still creatures. Big difference,” he explained. After those years of Hermione working for the Magical Creatures department , he ought to have picked up a fact or two. “Gnomes go by instinct. ‘Sides, they don’t follow magical laws or have complex societies. Not as elves do.”
Astonishment shone on Fred’s face. “Do my ears deceive me, or did I just hear Percy talking?”
There was no answer from Ron. He wasn’t mad at Percy anymore, but he hadn’t forgotten his stupid comments either.
“This is really about Dobby, innit?” Ron asked instead.
“The gnomes reminded me of him,” Harry admitted.
Ron raised an eyebrow.
At least gnomes can’t drop you from the sky or get you in trouble with the Ministry.
“I say you got it wrong there, Harry,” Fred said, tossing a big-headed gnome to George as if it was a Quaffle. The gnome kicked vigorously, but Fred wasn’t fazed by the struggle. “If these things were anything like house-elves, they would be less bawdy. Not to mention that they’d clean out this garden themselves.”
“True that. A shame we can’t afford an elf. A sane one, of course,” George agreed, before he started swinging. His gnome flew out of the garden, landing further than any other thrown so far. George brushed the dirt off his hands and winked at Fred.
“Lucky git,” Fred muttered.
George smirked. “Anyway, Harrynkins, you’re fussing too much over that dodgy elf. It’s probably Malfoy trying to get even. He wasn’t too happy about being Snape’s son and is shooting in the dark to find who pulled that one on him.” Not far away, Fred puffed out his chest at the mention of his prank. “The elf won’t be a bother once we get to Hogwarts.”
If only that were the case…
Ron sighed, sparing a glance beyond the garden. The green fields surrounding the Burrow looked at peace too, with no intruders on sight. Ron reckoned it’d be a while before Dobby tried anything else, though it didn’t hurt to keep an eye.
It was hard to stay mad at Dobby, to tell the truth. As much as Dobby’s supposed help hacked him off, he wasn’t an enemy—quite the opposite, really. They owed that elf too bloody much. Ron didn’t even want to think where he would be now if Dobby hadn’t rescued them from that dungeon when he did. The war would’ve been lost for sure, but that was beside the point. Hermione wouldn’t have made it. Taking that into account, it was easy to judge the elf. Because, the way Ron saw it, Dobby could drop him from a hundred flying cars and he still would be in his debt. The very least Ron could do now was to return the favour and rescue Dobby from the Malfoys.
The longer he waited, the more Dobby could mess up. That elf would save Harry by whatever means necessary, or kill him trying.
Fred and George weren’t interested in Dobby, and Harry, despite his questions, seemed to accept the car as just a prank gone wrong. They’d all stuck to Ron’s accidental magic story, if only to spare their father from an even bigger earful from their mother. The man had retrieved both the broken door and the broom from the fields, and spent most of his time repairing the old car. It was a shame that it’d ended up battered. Ron owed that car a big deal.
What the twins were more intrigued about, however, was the Trace. They’d read the Ministry’s warning, and could spot the few limitations mentioned there. They were especially offended that no one had ever bothered telling them the restriction didn’t apply inside the Burrow. They wouldn’t try anything with their mother as shirty as she was, but it’d surprise Ron if they weren’t secretly waving their wands in their room.
Ron glanced down, spotting a mean-looking gnome behind the carrots’ leaves, just begging to be thrown. Despite the creature’s grouchy face, it was Hermione’s voice which echoed in his head, clear as day.
“Is it really necessary to throw those poor creatures like that? They can feel, you know? It’s barbaric,” the imagined-Hermione chastised him.
A little smile crept onto Ron’s lips. He didn’t even care if Harry or the twins thought him barmy for it. Memories were his treasure.
Before their fourth year, when she’d first visited the Burrow, Hermione hadn’t even witnessed the de-gnoming. Her interactions with gnomes then had been limited to seeing Crookshanks chasing them across the garden. Hermione had first complained about the practice a few years later, but Bill’s wedding had occupied most of everyone’s time, and she hadn’t dared oppose the chores that Ron’s mother had so earnestly dispatched.
Hermione never forgot about the gnomes though. Not a ruddy chance of it. Once an idea took hold of that beautiful mind of hers, there was no force on Earth that could get it out. She was brilliant as no one else, but as stubborn as a proud hippogriff.
Mental, that one.
She wrote a bloody law about it of course—about gnomes, of all things. It was the first project she ever worked on for the Ministry. The launching point for all of her reforms on House-Elf rights and other non-human beings affairs. Hermione couldn’t contain her excitement when she’d shown Ron the first draft, a fifty-page sleeping-draught titled ‘Official Guidelines to Household Pests’ .
Ron had read it all. The whole blasted thing. He wouldn’t have done it for anyone else.
“So, what do you think?” she’d asked the moment Ron put down the last page.
The question had caught Ron off guard. After all, what could he possibly think of it? Why would his opinion matter at all? He was no bleeding expert. He understood the gist of it, but not all of the implications. Nevertheless, and thick-headed as he was, Ron could tell the draft was solid—beyond that even. There was a shift in tone, a willingness to do things the right way, even if they seemed small or different to the Ministry’s traditions. It’d be iron-clad too. Hermione was diligent to a fault and wouldn’t leave a stone unturned. She would’ve gone through every little detail, every little nuisance, thrice .
“What do I think? ” he’d repeated back then, noticing the glimmer in Hermione’s eyes. “I think every git who’s ever taken advantage of the old Ministry should watch their backs.”
Hermione hadn’t reacted as he expected. She’d frowned, visibly upset. “There was no need to make fun of it.”
“Hermione — I wasn’t — ”
His wife had continued, as if she hadn’t listened. “I know it’s just a small piece about gnomes. No one really cares about them, but I put a lot of effort into this. Believe it or not .”
“Hermione — ”
She had avoided his gaze, gathering her documents. “I don’t know why I bothered. It’s not like you care about these things anyway. All I wanted was your honest opinion, but I if you can’t—”
“ Hermione! By Merlin’s worn-out pants, woman, will you listen to me?! ” Ron had cut in, making her look at him, wide-eyed. “I’m not joking. It’s brilliant work. Didn’t get all of it, to be honest, but it doesn’t seem as if you left anything out. You even specified that gnomes can only be dropped from a maximum height of three feet! Bloody hell, who’s even going to measure that?” A chuckle had escaped him. Hermione hadn’t laughed. She’d stared at him, engrossed.
“You may say it’s a small piece, but I think it’s a start. The right start, I reckon,” he’d paused. “This isn’t just about stopping cruel practices—as you call them. This is the kind of unwavering wording you should use from now on. It doesn’t leave a crevice to be exploited. It’s the type of wording that would make crooks like the Malfoys tremble. And they bloody should, because Hermione Granger is here, and she’s a menace. She doesn’t stop until she gets what she bloody wants. If I know the witch well—and I sure as hell do—she’s about to turn the whole Wizarding World upside down. Privileged snoots be damned.”
Hermione had blinked two times before throwing her arms around his neck. It was a hell of a memory, unfortunately cut short by a sharp pain. Ron cursed, yanking his hand away from the gnarly gnome that bit him.
“Looks like Ronnie just learned daydreaming and gardening don’t mix,” George teased.
Fred chimed in, faking seriousness. “He better. Gnomes are fearsome creatures. They devour anyone who disregards the holy duties of de-gnoming. I’ve heard they’re especially vicious against those who fancy bookworms.”
“Piss off, you two!”
Ron shook his hand, wincing in pain. He wasn’t about to admit they were right about his distraction.
How could he not be distracted about Hermione, though? Even after a year, memories still ambushed him. On top of it, he was seeing young Hermione the next day at Diagon Alley. She may not be the same Hermione he’d left behind, but it would be a lie to say he hadn’t been counting the days to hear her voice again. Her presence was familiar, and the only person who could make him feel close and impossibly far from his old life. It wasn’t ideal by any means, but in this messed-up life of his, it was the best connection to his wife he could hope for.
Ron picked up the mean-looking gnome and threw it just over the fence, trying not to be too harsh with the little bugger. There was a spell that would compel the gnomes to leave on their own—the sensible method, according to Hermione’s future guidelines. However, his father had left for work, and their mother wouldn’t approve of them using magic. Even if he dared, Ron wasn’t supposed to know the spell. So, for the foreseeable future, they were stuck with tossing gnomes the old way.
Hermione would understand, but still say I’m enjoying it a bit too much. Not like I can do much about it. The twins expect me to act like a kid, and it’s hard not to fall into old habits when they make a competition out of it.
Despite wanting to do things properly, one couldn’t always follow through when playing a part. Such was the cost of pretending.
The next day, Ron’s mother herded everyone in the Burrow through the shopping-day motions. At an unreasonably early hour—for Ron’s taste—she began knocking loudly on doors, all the while announcing how behind schedule they were. The wooden floor squeaked with hurried steps, socks flew overhead, and Ron pulled Harry through the chaos of the twins’ shouts and Percy rushing into the bathroom. Breakfast wasn’t any less hectic, and Ron had barely taken a few spoonfuls before the Floo trip was being arranged.
Ron’s heart pounded, reliving the familiar experience for what felt like the thousandth time. It was like being dropped into some old memory. After a year out of time, the feeling wasn’t new, but it hadn’t hit him this hard since his arrival.
It wasn’t a day to be dazed like a wanker, though. Neither for losing himself in the excitement of Diagon Alley and seeing Hermione again. Today he had a goal as he hadn’t had in weeks, and he had to put all his energy into it.
Today was all about the diary .
Ginny stood quietly besides their mother, for once not focused on Harry. She’d been the first one ready, and one could tell how excited she was about her first shopping trip.
No way in hell that bloody book reaches her hands this time. Not on my watch.
Ron followed the family to the fireplace, wondering as to how to retrieve the book if they ran into the Malfoys at the bookshop — as he hoped. It was a first, but he was looking forward to seeing those pricks’ faces. If they didn’t show up… If he couldn’t get the diary… Well, he’d cross that bridge when he reached it.
They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron uneventfully. Ron ensured Harry understood how important it was that he didn’t stutter in the Floo — a Knockturn Alley detour wouldn’t have helped anyone.
By the way his father glanced over his shoulder, Ron could tell Dumbledore had people to keep an eye on them, in case the American showed up. That wanker wouldn’t attack them in the open, but Ron kept his hand close to his wand regardless.
All his readiness vanished when he saw Hermione waiting outside Gringotts.
The girl’s face lit up when the Weasleys approached. “Harry! Ron!” she yelled, her bushy hair waving as she rushed to hug them. “It’s so good to see you both. I hope you’ve been enjoying your summers.”
Ron’s heart swelled. She’d grown a little over the summer, but not much. After those long weeks, seeing her again had a bigger impact than he’d expected. He missed his wife terribly, but he’d also missed the girl before him. Her company during the last year had made being stranded from his future life bearable.
When Hermione pulled away, she had a tentative smile. It was a friendly hug, though Ron couldn’t recall if they’d ever been on hugging terms at this age. Whatever the case, it would only fuel the twins’ teasing.
“Wait, there was something...” Hermione said. Once she remembered what that something was, she frowned. “What were you thinking?! You know we’re not supposed to do magic outside of Hogwarts! And the car! What could’ve possessed you to—”
Now there’s the Hermione I know.
“It was that or crash into the ground without bothering anyone,” Ron said as Hermione pouted. “Save us the scolding. We read your letters about how reckless we were.”
“It was almost like you were yelling from the parchment,” Harry added.
Not quite. Harry still didn’t know what proper yelling parchment was like.
“Anyway, did you really bewitch the car with accidental magic,” she asked, looking between them.
“We’ll tell you later,” Ron answered as the others approached. They hadn’t Dobby in their letters. It felt like something to explain in person.
Introductions took time, given the size of Ron’s family and his father’s desire to talk with Hermione’s parents. Ron’s mother narrowed her eyes at Hermione, but she still greeted her warmly. The twins thankfully behaved as well. Soon, Ron shook Robert Granger’s hand. His future father-in-law was typically a serious man, except during football matches, as Ron had bore witness several times.
Ron’s mother bustled over. “Let’s get moving, shall we? Lots to buy today.”
They made a quick stop at Gringotts, where Harry had a chance to look uncomfortable comparing their vaults. Ron was perhaps the only one at ease then. Being poor still bothered him, but he knew it wouldn’t last forever. Besides, he was well aware that money wasn’t something his friends cared about.
Once done, they all made their way through Diagon Alley, stopping at various shops along the cobblestone street. They’d usually split up, as everyone had different interests and needs, but this time Ron’s mother had insisted on staying together. Ron preferred not to dwell on the reason for the extra precaution.
Even with the slower pace, they all soon found themselves enjoying the trip. Scribbulus Writing Instruments was the first stop, where Percy admired the fancy quills through the window display, while Hermione struggled to choose between two sets of parchments that looked practically identical. Gambol and Japes’ Joke Shop was less crowded than usual, but the twins still scurried through the shelves searching for Dr Filibuster’s fireworks. Ron stayed outside, helping his over-enthusiastic father explain things to his future in-laws.
An hour later, Ron’s father convinced his wife to split, leading the boys into Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ginny —who had to follow their mother to the second-hand robes shop—watched them part wistfully.
“What would you say is Ginny’s favourite Quidditch team?” Harry asked Ron while the twins ogled the Nimbus 2001 and other trinkets they couldn’t bloody well afford.
It wasn’t until then that Ron remembered that Harry intended to buy Ginny a present. Ron shook his head a couple of times until Harry picked something that was in the not-so-expensive category — though still well above the simple chocolate frog range that would have sufficed.
Harry could give her a used sock and she’d still beam at him.
The shopkeeper recognized Harry after the boy asked for wrapping and a card. When he heard the present wasn’t for any relative, the man smiled. “Mr Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!”
Harry went scarlet and denied it vehemently, at the same time he turned mortified to Ron, who found the whole exchange amusing.
After the Quidditch shop, they reunited with the others. Ron skimmed the shop fronts as far as the crowds allowed him, but he found no sign of the Malfoys or their slimy blond hair. They’d either eluded him so far or they just weren’t at Diagon Alley today.
There’s still time. They’ll show up.
He was still keeping watch when Ron’s group reached Eeylops Owl Emporium. While Harry bought treats for Hedwig, Ron searched for the smallest and most skittish bird he could find. As expected, Pig wasn’t there. He didn’t know why he’d looked in the first place. Even if Pig was born already, he wouldn’t be able to afford him. The owl had been a gift from Sirius.
Azkaban cells flashed in Ron’s mind as he stared at the cages. Guilt gnashed at him for not having freed Sirius yet. He’d already suffered an extra year that Ron could’ve avoided.
Ron dragged his feet to the exit until something made him stop halfway there.
“Hermione! Hermione, come here!”
The girl rushed from a nearby aisle and followed his gaze. Ron didn’t know if she found the big orange cat underwhelming, but she stared, intrigued. The cat purred, and Ron could’ve sworn it gave him a distrustful look.
It’d be a year early, but the ruddy beast was just what he needed to expose Wormtail without raising suspicions. “Look at this fat cat. Seems he’s been here forever. No wonder, with what he must eat,” Ron said, knowing his future-wife all too well.
Needless to say, the girl frowned and came out of the shop hugging the nasty little devil.
Ron felt as if he’d scored a small victory, but he had little time to savour it as the next stop was the one he’d been dreading. Flourish and Blotts was bursting with people, and when Ron saw the banner outside, his stomach twisted.
GILDEROY LOCKHART
will be signing copies of his autobiography
MAGICAL ME
today 12:30 P.m. to 4:30 P.m.
Magical my arse .
“Isn’t this great? We get to meet Gilderoy Lockhart in person!” Hermione asked, giddy.
Lockhart was indeed up front, smiling, posing, and signing books. Ron felt a searing urge to punch those white teeth out of him. “He looks like a peacock with a wig, if you ask me. Haven’t you considered that he could be just some flashy phoney?”
Hermione huffed. “You don’t mean that. He’s a published author, Ron. He must be considerably talented to accomplish something like that.”
Ron rolled his eyes, already coming with a reply, but a voice spoke first.
“He’s very handsome, too,” said Sally-Anne Perks, approaching from the crowd with her friend Alice Tolipan. “How lucky are we to do our shopping the same day he’s here? The man has fought werewolves, vampires and what not! All by himself!”
Hermione smiled at Sally-Anne, giving Ron a look.
“He has?” asked Harry.
“Oh, yes. Droves of them!” Sally-Anne added dreamily.
“That’s what he says!” Ron shouted, exasperated.
Sally-Anne turned defiantly. “There were witnesses.”
Ron opened his mouth, but Alice chipped in. “Ron fought an evil wizard, too, didn’t you?” she asked, her cheeks flushed.
Caught off guard, Ron said, “Err, yeah, I guess.”
Hermione eyed Alice, while Sally-Anne snorted.
Just then, Lockhart spotted Harry, dragging him to the front for his spectacle.
As sorry as he felt for his friend, Ron excused himself, saying he had to find the twins. He lost himself in the crowd, searching for the Malfoys as keenly as his mother searched for Lockhart. However, he couldn’t find them anywhere. He spotted a couple of Hufflepuffs from his year, and recognised Emmeline Vance in the crowd too—not like she’d know who he was. There was no sign of the Malfoys though.
Blimey. Now what?
By the time he returned, the rest of the Weasleys were there.
“What’s his name?” Alice asked Hermione, patting the cat’s head.
“He doesn’t have one yet.”
“Knowing you, you’ll pick something like Crookshanks,” Ron chipped in.
Hermione narrowed her eyes, but smiled. The cat seemed to like it. “I might as well.”
That was when Harry returned, looking quite peeved. Ron patted his shoulder, and Harry set his Lockhart books in Ginny’s cauldron.
“Have you seen Malfoy?” Ron asked him. Perhaps Harry had a better look at the crowd from the front.
“No, why? Is he here?”
“I thought I saw him, but I must’ve been mistaken,” Ron added, hiding his disappointment.
“Malfoy? You won’t find him here. I heard from Megan Jones that he did his shopping already. Her cousin saw him with his father two days ago,” explained Sally-Anne.
Bollocks! There goes my last hope.
Sally-Anne and Alice left, looking for their books. Alice waved as they walked away, but Ron answered lazily, lost in thought.
Now what? Did Lucius give the diary to Megan Jones’ cousin? Or would he send it to Hogwarts with his son? It could be that he intended the diary for Weasley’s hands only… But, what if Lucius decides to keep it instead? Retrieving it from their Manor would be a fucking nightmare.
Ron shook his head. Lucius wasn’t likely to keep it. He’d had it with him last time, hadn’t he? Why would he carry it about if he wasn’t going to give it away?
That was last time though. He could keep it closer to his chest this time around.
Time possibilities were one way to make someone’s head hurt. Ron didn’t know what his next step was just yet, but he knew it wasn’t the time to decide when Hermione nudged him.
“Come on, your family is calling. Your Mum says she’ll buy from the secondhand bookshop, that she still has most of the second year books from your brothers,” she said, hiding the brand new set of books.
Ron turned to the Weasleys leaving, baffled. It took him a moment to realise why. “What about Lockhart’s?”
Hermione looked puzzled. “What do you need Lockhart’s books for?”
“Thought you didn’t like the bloke,” Harry added.
“I don’t, but, won’t we need them? What with that tosser teaching Defence?”
“Gilderoy Lockhart’s teaching Defence? Who said that?” Hermione asked, turning excitedly to the man.
Ron’s eyes widened. “He’d just said so, to Harry,” he muttered, turning to his lost-looking best mate. “I-I thought I heard him say that. Didn’t he?”
When they stared at him bewildered, Ron took Harry’s book list. He hadn’t read his last week since he’d thought he’d already known what it said. Now though, he paled when he saw no mention of any Lockhart book whatsoever.
Crap. Why did that change?
As Ron followed Harry and Hermione from the bookshop, his mind raced. It seemed like Lockhart wouldn’t be teaching at Hogwarts this year. What happened? Who would be their Defence teacher now? And how would that impact the school term, or his plans?
He was still processing it when he got hit by yet another earth-shattering discovery. They arrived at 93 Diagon Alley, where in about four years his brothers’ joke shop would be. At this moment, the place was supposed to be a boring clothing shop, but instead it was occupied by a completely different joke shop bustling with people. The sign over the door read: Zonko and Plank’s Wizarding Joke Shop .
What in Merlin’s wrinkled nose hairs?!
George stepped forward and whistled. “Look at that beauty. Wasn’t expecting Zonko to open a branch in Diagon Alley. Business must be booming.”
He wasn’t supposed to. Zonko was only in Hogsmeade.
Fred also looked excited, unknowing that it was their own shop that was being displaced. “Guess we know why the keeper at Gambol and Japes looked so shirty. Wonder who’s that Plank bloke?”
As if to answer that question, a man emerged from the shop. He was tall and brawny, but in posh and spotless clothing. His shirt was a deep blue and his vest a bold purple, though the colours were more subdued compared to Lockhart’s flamboyance. The style of his suit was too eccentric for Muggle London, and too muggle to be found inside Dumbledore’s closet.
The man stood grinning at the entrance, greeting guests. But when his eyes landed on the Weasleys, his expression changed. He spoke to an employee, who pointed at Ron. The man then confidently approached.
“It can’t be Ronald Weasley?” he exclaimed with enthusiasm, as if he were an old friend. His dark skin made his smile appear even brighter than Lockhart’s.
All eyes turned to Ron, who shrugged. His parents seemed wary, but not as much as Ron. The man’s American accent immediately ticked him off.
“I’ve read all about you. Quite a fit you accomplished a few weeks back,” the man said, before hurrying to offer his hand. “What the heck, where are my manners? The name is Arwin Plank, and this is my humble establishment. Well, my partner’s and mine.”
Ron waited until the last moment to shake his hand. His other hand firmly gripped around his wand.
Arwin Plank greeted Ron’s family warmly, even complimenting his mother for raising such a brave son. And then, to make things even stranger, he turned to Harry. “Oh, but you must be Harry Potter, Ronald’s friend.”
Harry Potter. Famous for being Ronald Weasley’s friend. Now that was a first.
Talking came easily to Arwin Plank. He had an uncanny charm, winning over the Weasleys with his ‘new in the country’ story. Plank apologized for the man who attacked Ron, asking them not to judge all Americans for one raging lunatic. Ron didn’t buy it. There was no way Plank’s sudden appearance could be a coincidence. He had to be connected to the mismatched-eyes man, sent to catch him off guard. In Ron’s opinion, it was a sloppy attempt.
Plank invited them into the shop, offering discounts to Ron’s family and friends. Before Ron could say what a terrible idea that was, the twins pulled them inside.
The shop was packed with bright colours and silly gags, as any good joke shop should be. However, Ron found it to be lacking in comparison to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. The twins seemed to love the Plank’s shop though, eagerly browsing through each shelf in amazement.
After a few minutes, Ron realised an attack was unlikely. The shop was too crowded, and the Plank bloke would be outnumbered if he tried anything. Even so, Ron’s grip on his wand didn’t loosen. He remained tense. So, when a different man stood at the back door with mismatched eyes and a playful grin, he noticed him at once. Panic surged through him. There was no mistake. It was the same man he’d faced on top of a chaotic chessboard, not too long ago.
Fuck.
Ron’s eyes widened as the American stared at him, then walked out of the shop with a relaxed pace. Ron saw his family still too preoccupied with the merchandise, and without a second thought, he stormed out of the shop.
“Ron!” someone called out, but he ignored them. He’d end this bloody madness now.
Sunlight blinded Ron as he stepped out, wand at the ready. Onlookers gasped and scattered as they saw him pointing his wand with a fierce determination. Ron paid no attention to them. He frantically searched in all directions, desperate to spot that slick bastard amongst the crowd. It only took a moment before he caught a glimpse of him, grinning smugly before merging into the crowd.
Ron pushed his way through, struggling to keep up the chase. He cursed his small stature and wished he were in his older Auror body. “Get out of my way!” he yelled, weaving past people’s backs and shoulders.
The chase went on, with Ron occasionally losing sight of his target but always managing to find him again. He couldn’t let him get away. The prick was taunting him, letting him know how close he could get to his loved ones.
The crowds thinned as they entered Knockturn Alley, but Ron didn’t falter. He pushed forward, ignoring the dodgy wizards and shrunken heads displayed in shopfronts. Some tried to catch his attention, but he paid them no mind.
Ron’s determination paid off when he finally caught sight of the American again, closer than before. That prick had surely expected him to give up by now, but Ron wasn’t going to stop, even if that meant duelling him in the middle of the alley.
With his wand raised, Ron tried to get a clean shot at his opponent, who seemed to anticipate his move and changed direction just in the nick of time. But suddenly, in a smaller alleyway, the American turned just a few steps from where he was, giving Ron the opportunity he needed. Despite his exhaustion from trying to keep up with a grown man’s pace on his shorter legs, Ron lunged, aiming as he reached the corner.
“ Stupe — ! ”
Where the fucking… ?
His spell was cut off when he realised that the American had mysteriously disappeared. The alleyway stretched for at least fifteen yards, but there was no sign of the man anywhere. Confused and frustrated, he noticed only a mean-looking witch and a dwarf speaking to a blond man. The two men were fluent in some language that Ron couldn’t understand, and neither of them were the right height or appearance to be the man he’d been chasing.
He did come this way. I saw him. I’m not off my trolley… Am I?
Ron gasped for breath. “Has anyone seen a man running through here? About this high, slick black hair…?” he asked, raising his hand above him.
The men stared at him blankly and muttered something unintelligible, their gruff expressions making it clear they weren’t interested in helping. The one-eyed witch among them grinned wickedly. “I haven’t. Was he your friend, gorgeous?”
“Err, no. Thanks anyway,” Ron said, stepping back.
Baffled, he ran his hand through his hair, lowering his wand. He heard his father calling.
“Ron! There you are! What got into you!?” he said, pulling his son in for a hug. He led Ron back, giving the eager witch a suspicious look. “Excuse me,” he told her, before turning back to Ron. “Come on now, son. Your mother is in a tizzy looking for you, better not keep her waiting.”
With a weak nod, Ron followed, glancing back at the alley. Doubts plagued him.
How was that bastard so fast at apparating?... Did he really apparate?... Or, was he even here at all?