Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at the Burrow. Ron watched it unfold, though he kept his attention centered on the ham and golden eggs on his plate. 

“Seriously, Mother? What can possibly happen?” George asked. “It’ll just be fireplace to fireplace. Shortest trip ever.”

“And, let’s not forget that we’ve promised to be on our best behaviour,” Fred added, a dramatic hand over his chest. His crossed fingers, however, betrayed him.

Percy, the eldest of Ron’s brothers at the Burrow, ignored them.

Crowded arguments were commonplace in that madhouse, but their mother never allowed them to muddle with tight schedules. “Oh, keep it down you two. We’ve gone through it enough already. A risk is still a risk, no matter how small,” she told them as she served breakfast. “Besides, your brother said that those Muggles might not be fond of visits.”

Ron felt his mother’s look before he raised his head to see it. He’d been purposely vague in that regard.

“They’re a tad scared of magic, from what I’ve heard,” Ron said, his tone casual.

“And you’re sure they won’t mind us stealing their nephew on his birthday? I can’t imagine how they wouldn’t want to celebrate with him. It’s not too late,” she pointed out, drawing the attention of Ron’s little sister, Ginny. “Dinner can still be sorted, and the more the merrier. If they all want to come over for dinner we can easily — ”

“No!” Ron had almost choked at the suggestion, and coughed a couple of times before he could speak. “I told you. I talked with Harry over the phone. The Muggles are fine with it. They have other plans.”

Ron’s father nodded. He’d asked his fair share of questions about phones the previous week, when he’d escorted Ron to town to make that call. Telephones were just one of the many Muggle mysteries that fascinated his father.

In other circumstances, Ron would’ve sent a letter with the family’s owl to arrange Harry’s pick up, but his best friend hadn’t answered his previous messages. He was dead certain who was to blame for that one.

“And you’re sure Harry wouldn’t prefer to come after his birthday?”

“Positive.”

Not unless he’d rather be rescued from his room.

The Dursleys were a peculiar sort of people. They were Muggles —or non-magical people—and, as any other guardian of someone deemed magical, they were allowed to know about the Wizarding World. Unlike other Muggles that Ron had met however, the Dursleys were rather awful and close-minded people. They loathed anything that was even remotely related to magic, and by extension that included their nephew: Harry Potter, Ron’s best friend.

Not like Ron had any intention of telling that to his family. Doing so would only complicate matters, and in any case, Harry was about to part ways with the Dursleys for almost a whole year.

The Weasleys were an entirely different type of family. They were all magical to start. More importantly even—and despite the fact of living in an old, rickety house and not having much money—they always welcomed family and friends into their home. The Weasleys found birthdays to be particularly special events that couldn’t go by uncelebrated.

“Are we all set for today, then? We can pick up whatever is missing on our way back,” Ron’s father offered.

Ron knew his mother was determined to make this Harry’s best birthday ever. A tall order, considering last year Harry learned he was a wizard and discovered a life out of the Dursleys.

“We’ll manage with what we have. The only thing missing is the cake, but I’ll start with it after breakfast. No need to expose yourselves.”

There it was again. The concerned look on his mother. Ron kept eating as if he hadn’t noticed it.

If truth be told, Ron wasn’t just any twelve year old boy. Even setting aside the fact that he was a wizard, Ron was anything but normal. He was a time-traveller .

Ron would have loved for that to be a joke. He would much rather be a young boy about to start his second year in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, than a war hero who had unintentionally thrown his arse twelve years into the past. He would have certainly preferred if his biggest worry involved remembering the date of this or that goblin rebellion for History of Magic rather than fretting over keeping the entire timeline stable.

When do things go as you’d bloody like, though?

He toyed with the food on his plate, trying to remember a time when he wasn’t a boy. Before last September, he’d been a twenty-three year old Auror, a famous wizard who’d been eager for the next stage in his life. He had a wife and had left behind the dark times of the war. He had plans.

Then that bleeding night shift came and all that was flipped over.

Ron had spent almost a whole year in the past now. He’d tried to pull out all the stops to do the right things, but most of the time, he hadn’t know what the fuck he was doing.

At first, Ron had tried to keep time unchanged. After all, they’d won a war just barely, and it would be a buggering nightmare if they now lost it because of something Ron did. Time, however, wasn’t easy to handle—a fact Ron was constantly reminded of—and he ended up ditching his plan to keep things the same. His decision happened just in time apparently, because it turned out that Ron wasn’t the only time-traveller around.

For a second, he felt the faintest of itches in his left arm. The white scars that had once covered both his arms were missing from his younger self’s body, replaced by a single mark that went almost all the way to his left elbow. A much more fresh one.

Ron tensed at the memory as his grip on the fork tightened.

That scar had been given to him by a dangerous and mysterious man he’d fought at the end of last term. The man was an American, responsible for the incident that sent Ron to the past—and his family’s fears.

Not like the rest of the Weasleys knew that the American was from the future —or even that Ron was too for that matter.

“We’ll be quick about it. But, Mollywobbles, dear, there’s no need to be this anxious. The protective enchantments around the house work. Professor Dumbledore saw to it in person.”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t out there.”

That didn’t reassure Ron either. It didn’t stop him from staring at the clock whenever his parents left home. It didn’t stop the many bad dreams filled with monstrous chessmen made out of stone. It didn’t stop the urges to forget that Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard alive, or to race and double-check the protective enchantments over Hermione’s house.

To his blasted luck, that wasn’t even something Ron could do. No matter how old he may really be, he was still in his twelve year old body, and apparating to Hermione’s house would land him in a ruddy load of trouble with the Ministry of Magic.

Ron sighed, gazing wistfully out of the kitchen’s window.

What could she be doing right now?

Hermione Granger wasn’t just any girl. She was Ron’s friend and, in his old life, she’d grown up to become his wife. He missed her dearly—the older Hermione that was—but that didn’t mean he hadn’t grown fond of this new younger version of her as well. She was the only real connection Ron had to his wife, and the days between one of her letters felt endless. The attack on her had actually been the final straw that convinced Ron to change the timeline. It had scared him shitless, and allowing it to happen was the greatest mistake of this new life of his.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by his family. Another thing that was obviously different to last time.

“There he goes, daydreaming about that girl again,” the twins would usually tease.

Ron would blush and shove them off. It was annoying. They couldn’t possibly understand.

His relationship with his family had been as great as it ever was, yet it was also uncomfortable as hell. Not a single day passed without Ron being reminded of something he was keeping from them. Bill and Charlie lived abroad and didn’t present much of a problem—which was a relief because they were both very perceptive in their own different ways. Nevertheless, Ron had to live with the rest of the Weasleys and knew he was lying to their faces every single day.

He tried to make the most of it. After all, Ron had the advantage of foresight. He knew what his past mistakes were and hoped that this second chance might help him do better. Each afternoon, he would make time to sit with his mother, if only to talk about trivial matters. He’d then go to the garage to learn something from his father. However, Ron’s main focus this time around was on Fred.

Ron cast a glance at his brother across the table.

Witnessing Fred’s death was Ron’s worst memory from the future. It’d happened right in the middle of the final battle, when all the frenzied spells and shouts in the world had been silenced by a single, fucking explosion. It’d felt unreal even then, watching his brother so motionless. Without a warning or goodbye, Fred lay upon the cold stones of the castle, as if his laughter had never touched those same stones hundreds of times before then.

The yells of darker moments were replaced by those of his mother, “Ron!”

“Err… What?”

“Daydreaming again. He’s got it bad.” Fred exaggerated a lovesick gesture, blissfully unaware that the real reason for Ron’s distraction had nothing to do with Hermione.

His mother shook her head. “Whatever the reason, there’s no time for it. The Floo connection won’t be up all day.”

Ron nodded absently, promising himself for the umpteenth time that he would stop the dark fate hanging over Fred.

After gulping down the remains of his toast, Ron ran upstairs, catching Percy’s annoyed glance on the way. In all honesty, Percy wasn’t half as bad in the future. Once he sorted out his priorities, Percy turned out to be a bloke with a hidden sense of humour—as proved by his contributions to George’s pranks. It was hard to admit, but Percy’s knowledge, when not thrown snobbishly in one’s face, often sparked interesting conversations. Ron missed the older version of his brother, and was determined to get it back. It might not be the easiest of tasks to get Percy’s inflated teenage head out of his arse, but if he pulled it off, Ron could spare his parents a great disappointment and Percy the regret of his life.

Audrey would know how to handle him… Wonder if she’d have any interest in talking to a snooty git at the moment… 

Ron entered his room in a haste. He took a look around, with little of the nostalgic awe he’s felt at the start of the summer. The room was a riot of orange, as wild upon the eyes as it was overstuffed with posters. Living with Hermione had taught him the charm in more subtle decorations, but that didn’t keep him from grinning like a madman whenever he stared at his bright walls.

As he dressed, Ron mused about what could happen that day. Harry’s twelfth birthday—the one Ron had already lived through—had been quite an eventful matter. That’s when Harry had met Dobby, a house-elf determined to save his life in the most painful of ways. He was barmy like that. Being fair though, Dobby had proven his worth countless times after. He’d died a hero’s death saving them all, and rescuing the little devil was high on the list of Ron’s intended change to the timeline. That didn’t mean Dobby couldn’t cause them a shedload of trouble in the meantime. As in Ron’s time, the elf was surely blocking Harry from getting his letters, and if he wasn’t stopped, he would end up costing Harry a warning from the Ministry of Magic by the day’s end.

Ron couldn’t let that happen. Picking Harry up the very day of his birthday was already a dangerous risk. Ron would’ve preferred to bring his friend over with plenty of days to spare. His parents and Dumbledore wanted to wait even longer—what with the American on the loose and his shady connections to the Department of Magical Transportation—but Ron managed to convince them to at least have Harry over for his birthday.

Hope it’s not too late. If for some blasted reason Dobby decided to visit Harry earlier this time, then everything would be a bloody mess.

A high-pitch squeak drew his attention to the small cage by the window. Ron frowned instantly.

There was a time—when he was young and stupid—that Ron had valued that rat a big deal. A time before he’d discovered that Scabbers —the name of the supposed rat—was actually a wizard in disguise. And not just any wizard, but the traitor who was responsible for the deaths of Harry’s parents.

Peter Pettigrew was a despicable human being who deserved nothing less than to rot in the deepest pit of Azkaban—the wizarding prison. Instead, that prick had enjoyed eleven years of sunlight while an innocent man—Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather—paid for his crimes. Even in this new timeline, Sirius had been languishing in some dark rotten cell, hopeless and without a soul to talk to. For eleven years . To Ron’s remorse, one of those years went by with him knowing perfectly well that Sirius was innocent and not doing crap about it.

That won’t be the case for much longer.

For weeks now, Ron had been searching for a good plan to free Sirius. Something that didn’t involve letting a killer loose in the Burrow, or using a spell that would expose him as a time-traveller. No such plan had occurred to him so far.

The cage would have to do for now. I’ll figure something out once at Hogwarts.

With a huff, Ron pushed the plate of food into the rat’s cage.

A voice from the open doorway said, “You should let him out more. He’s been there all summer.” 

Not bloody likely.

Ron turned around and found Ginny, who stared at the rat with undeserved pity.

“It likes its cage,” he said.

He softened his expression and approached his sister. “Mum asked you to come fetch me?”

Ginny nodded, looking every bit like the ten year old she was. No matter how many weeks he’d already spent at the Burrow, Ron still couldn’t get used to it. Last time he’d seen her before coming to the past, Ginny had been very pregnant with Harry’s child, and now she was this little girl again.

“Shocking that she didn’t just yell.”

“She still might,” Ginny replied, sharing a smile with Ron.

Of all the things Ron had discovered at the Burrow, Ginny was by far the most precious. In the future, he’d mended his relationship with his sister, and they were much closer than they’d been during their school years. However, Ron couldn’t shake the feeling that it’d happened in good part thanks to all the awful things they went through.

The little girl now before Ron was a completely different story. She was from a time before Ron soured their relationship by ignoring her during her whole first year—when she’d needed him most. She was from before all the misjudgements and accusations. Now, she was only his little sister. The closest sibling he had during his childhood and who had been his eternal partner in crime in those early days at the Burrow. More importantly, this Ginny was from before that rotten diary had touched her hands and tore a part of her forever.

I’ll be damned if I let that fucking book get near her again.

The expression on her face pulled Ron out of his thoughts. “Is there something wrong?”

Ginny pressed her lips together and shook her head. “It’s just— I wish I could go too.”

“Mum won’t have it. You heard how that went for Fred and George,” he reminded her, “‘We won’t take long.”

“But I wanted to see where he lives. I wasn’t going to be a bother.”  

Of course. Harry Potter surely had to live somewhere exciting. Some adventurous den where he fought dragons day and night… Pff! The git’s only faced a grown-up dragon twice, and I was there for one!

Who knows? Maybe dragons were easier to get along with than the Dursleys.

“It’s a normal house, Gin. Tidier and smaller than this one, but way more boring too. You’re not missing much.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Ginny argued, visibly offended by Ron calling anything related to Harry Potter ‘boring’ .

Ron scratched the back of his head. “Harry has talked enough about it. ‘Sides, I bet there’s more fun to be had around here. You saw Mum! She’s dead set on making this Harry’s best birthday ever.”

A hesitant smile touched Ginny’s lips before she turned away, her cheeks blushing. Ron didn’t miss that she’d made an effort to tidy herself up that morning. She’d finished showering before he’d even woke up, and she’d spent an awful lot of time looking for her best outfit to put on.  Ginny’s long red hair was even neatly brushed and pulled back with a headband. 

“You— You think he’ll like me?” she asked.

She had no bloody idea.

That being said, Ron couldn’t tell her that. In all honesty, he had struggled with how to approach the whole Harry and Ginny situation. She was his sister and the last thing he wanted was to see her snogging his best friend in each one of Hogwarts’ corridors. It’d been bad enough having to endure it for a few weeks, and then all the glaring displays of affection after the war. Seeing it sooner was hardly what he wanted. On the other hand, he didn’t want to cause the little Ginny any embarrassment or heartbreak. Not to mention, witnessing Harry pinning after Cho Chang would be downright uncomfortable at this point.

Ron placed his hand on Ginny’s shoulder. “Don’t fret over it. He might be in books and all of that rubbish, but Harry’s a boy as normal as you’ll ever find. If you’re yourself, I’m sure he’ll want you as your friend.”

That seemed to raise her mood, but it lasted about four seconds before her face turned all mortified again, “And, does he like chocolate frogs? That’s all I could get for him.”

“He’s a big fan,” Ron promised, and Ginny beamed. “Just don’t make a big deal out of it. He gets embarrassed and uncomfortable at first provocation. Honest word, putting him on the spot makes him twitch like that time the twins spread itching powder and it looked like all the gnomes were dancing.”

Ginny giggled.

Would it be too weird if I specifically advise against singing dwarves?

He settled for something much less obvious. “I swear! He hates attention!”

It was hardly the first time he’d told her that this summer, but it seemed Ginny needed to meet Harry to truly believe it. She opened her mouth to ask something else, but that’s when their mother’s patience ran out.

“RON!!!”

“Coming!” Ron yelled back before turning to his sister. “He’ll be glad to have you as a friend, just talk to him as you would talk to me. Being in your room, making no noise and pretending you’re not there would be about the worst thing you could do.”

After she nodded, Ron ruffled Ginny’s long red hair playfully. She faked an annoyed expression, then smiled and pushed him away.

Ron left his room in a bright mood, hoping that a certain house-elf wouldn’t be around just yet.

As expected, the Dursleys didn’t take kindly to Ron and his father arriving through their fireplace. Stepping out, Ron was amused by their bewildered faces. Harry was standing a few steps away, as astonished as they were by the Weasleys’ magical means of transportation, only that his face reflected the widest of grins instead.

“Oh, Mr and Mrs Dursley, I imagine? Hope you forgive our small delay, but you know how it is with kids. A pleasure though. I’m Arthur Weasley and this is my son, Ron,” the redhead man made his keen introduction, brushing off the ashes. He extended his hand, though the Dursleys didn’t take it. Looking baffled, he turned to Ron, who simply shrugged.

“Hi, Mr Weasley,” Harry greeted, rushing forward.

Ron welcomed him cheerfully. “Happy birthday, Harry!”

Harry returned the smile, as the Dursleys reacted with awkward gestures.

The mood of Ron’s father was effusive. “Why, hello Harry. And a very happy birthday as well. It’s great to finally be able to meet you. Formally, that is. We caught a glimpse of each other at King’s Cross, if you remember. Ron has told us a lot about you and the wonders of this Muggle life of yours.”

Harry looked uncertain. “Reckon there’s not much to tell, Mr Weasley.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that. But everyone is excited back home waiting to meet you, regardless,” the man said, noticing the plump boy in the back. “Oh, you must be Dudley. Harry’s cousin?”

Dudley remained silent and quickly hid behind his mother, leaving Ron’s father even more puzzled.

In stark contrast, bombarded Ron with questions about their arrival and the letters he hadn’t received. Ron’s heart lifted, for as much as the young boy was miles away from his older version, he was still Harry. With all his worries about the American and Hermione, Ron had almost forgotten how much he’d missed Harry as well.

“This— This— This is a travesty! This is not what we agreed upon!”

“Uh, well— What do you mean?” asked Ron’s father, scratching his head.

“You came out of the fireplace!”

“Oh, yes we did. Sorry, it’s only that I forget how different things are in the Muggle world. Didn’t Professor Dumbledore explain the manner of our arrival?”

“We received no such notice! And I wouldn’t have approved if I had!” Mr Dursley bellowed. His wife nodded stiffly nearby, stroking her son’s back

“I, uh, how were you expecting us to arrive then?”

“By car, of course. What kind of question is that?”

Ron saw his father raise his eyebrows. “I, err, that would have attracted too much attention, don’t you think?”

Harry looked as bemused as the Dursleys, while Ron could barely contain a laugh. Had his father assumed the Dursleys knew about their flying car? Even if Harry had been able to receive letters, Ron couldn’t see how that information could’ve ever reached his uncle’s and aunt’s ears. Harry was young, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew better than to tell them anything like that.

“What do you even mean? What kind of car do you drive?” Mr Dursley asked. The frown on his face hadn’t relaxed, though he suddenly seemed more interested.

He couldn’t possibly think they owned one of those luxurious cars Muggles obsessed over, could he?

“Err, Dad? Maybe—” Ron mumbled, trying to stop his father from spilling the true nature of their car’s uniqueness.

Ron’s father went to answer the question anyway. “Oh, it’s an old Ford Anglia. It’s fascinating, you see, because—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because a loud snort told them that Vernon Dursley had heard all he’d wanted to know.

Hearing the beefy man dismiss their car like that didn’t bring any reaction from Ron’s father. He probably hadn’t even realized what the snort meant. Ron, however, frowned in annoyance.

That car had once saved their lives. And even when he didn’t have any ruddy intention of bringing it to Hogwarts again, or following any fucking spider , Ron couldn’t feel anything but gratitude for that old piece of junk.

“Regardless, coming out of our fireplace is hardly the way to arrive. And look at all this soot you’ve brought onto my carpet,” Harry’s aunt said, wrinkling her nose.

“Oh, right. My apologies,” Ron heard his father say. With a swift flick of his wand, he removed all the soot, leaving the living room spotless.

A thud echoed as Dudley stumbled backward, landing arse first on the floor, panic written all over his face.

Mr Dursley turned so red, Ron thought he might explode.

“STOP THAT!” The man took a deep breath. “I want none of this jiggery-pokery or hocus-pocus nonsense of yours! Not in this house!”

“Y-You mean Magic?” Ron’s father asked, stunned.

Mrs Dursley gasped, clutching her chest. Her husband appeared on the brink of bursting in flames, which made Ron think amusingly of his mother’s earlier proposal of inviting them over. Seeing the Burrow would definitely throw the Dursleys over the edge.

Thinking about it, Ron wished he’d taken his mother up on that offer, if only to see that spectacle.

In any case, Ron tried to prevent things from escalating further. “Err, Dad? Me and Harry will go grab his stuff. Why don’t you just wait here?”

And not say anything more, perhaps?

“Actually, my things are in that cupboard,” Harry interrupted, pointing under the stairs. “Except for Hedwig. She’s in my room.”

“Brilliant. Dad, could you fetch those things while we go get Hedwig?”

That should keep him away from the Dursleys for long enough.

The man nodded enthusiastically and Ron followed Harry upstairs. Not before leaning over and whispering to his father that it might be better to avoid any Levitation Spell.

Frankly, Ron didn’t care much about the Dursleys. If it weren’t for Dumbledore—who considered them a necessary inconvenience—or the older Harry developing a more or less cordial relationship with his cousin, Ron would’ve taken his friend away from that house forever.

A part of him thought that he should do it anyway. The blood protections around that house might be crucial in the years to come, but on the other hand, sparing his friend from those dreadful summers sounded like too much of a splendid idea to dismiss. There was no point in chewing over it just yet, though. There was still a whole year ahead of them. Ron had plenty of time to plan if he should free Harry from the Dursleys and—most importantly—how to do so under Dumbledore’s watchful eye.

There were no voices coming from the living room by the time they reached Harry’s bedroom. Things were looking up, and with luck, they might end up leaving before having to hex any of the Dursleys.

Ron had glimpsed Harry’s bedroom once before, in his previous life. Upon closer inspection, Ron could now say that the place was—for a lack of a better word— plain . It was more spacious than Ron’s violently coloured one, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The empty spaces were begging to be filled, agonising for some sort of personality. The wallpaper alone was so dull and muted, it could give Binns a run for his money in knocking people asleep.

The worst part was that the room didn’t belong to some boring bloke. There were probably tons of ways of making it feel more like Harry’s. A broom hanging on the wall would do wonders for sure. The only thing unmistakably Harry’s in this room was the bright snowy owl in the corner.

Hedwig gave an irritated hoot when she saw them, longing for freedom as much as Harry.

“It’s not much,” Harry said quickly. “Not magical at all.”

“Rubbish! It’s bigger than mine, you’ll see. A few well-placed Quidditch posters would make a hell of a difference.”

Harry chuckled, “As if they would let me put those up.”

That hadn’t stopped Sirius .

Guilt struck Ron at once, dark and unrelenting. He tried to shove it away, telling himself that he’d rescue Sirius as soon as he could. But it was hard to suppress completely.

When Harry walked to Hedwig and started gathering her things, Ron averted his gaze. Hedwig’s fate did little to weaken his remorse, so he pretended to focus on the room instead. Clean as a whistle, and without a sign of an elf’s wrongdoing.

Ron didn’t want to dwell too much on Dobby, another victim of a vicious future. Someone that Ron could save, or someone he could fail in saving. Like Hedwig, or Lavender, or Colin Creevey.

Or Fred.

No, Ron shouldn’t focus on that now. All of that was too far away, and might not happen with the timeline changes. Ron needed to set his mind on present problems. On freeing Dobby and dealing with the trouble he could cause before then.

“You haven’t seen anything unusual, have you?”

Harry stopped to look at him. “You mean, like that man ?”

Oh, right. There was that fucker too. How could I forget?

Ron shrugged.

Harry hesitated, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He’d likely seen something odd, thanks to Dobby, but nothing concrete.  “Not much. You?”

“Nothing.”

Ron approached the window. At first, he thought of the iron bars they’d had to pull off because of Dobby. However, Harry had reminded him of the American, and that had thrown away any other thought.

What was that bastard doing?

Just as he turned to help Harry with Hedwig’s food, a glance out the window made him stop dead. A chill shot up his spine like a speeding broomstick. Ron suddenly couldn’t believe his eyes, because outside, standing mockingly at the far end of a Muggle street, was the American .

The bloody effing American.

“Stand back!” Ron shouted when Harry moved towards him.

With a swift movement, Ron drew his wand and pushed Harry aside, keeping his back against the wall by the window.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It couldn’t be. It had to be a dream. He couldn’t possibly be here.

“Ron! What is it?”

He didn’t answer. With Charlie’s old wand gripped tightly in his fist, Ron risked a peek out the window, and saw… Nothing.

What the fuck?

The street seemed undeniably Muggle again. A couple of pedestrians were walking over the pavement, and a lone car even crossed with leisure through the neighbourhood. Still, there was no sign of the American. He was gone. Had he ever been? Or had Ron imagined him?

Ron rubbed his eyes, unable to trust them anymore.

“Ron? Are you alright?”

Harry looked out the window, but seeing nothing, he turned to Ron with visible concern.

“It’s nothing. I was confused, that’s all. Come on, let’s go.”

Before Harry could protest, Ron helped him with Hedwig and practically dragged him out of the room. Downstairs, his father had finished packing Harry’s belongings. He was so preoccupied that he didn’t even notice Ron had gone dead pale.

Ron hurried them to leave, keeping his eyes fixed on the front door as his father instructed Harry in the proper use of the Floo powder. He didn’t even care about Mr Dursley’s impatient watch-checking and foot-tapping.

Thankfully, Harry pronounced their destination correctly, even when Ron forgot to remind him of it. The boy even looked excited as he disappeared in a woosh of green flames.

The fire was just as green when Ron stepped into it. It was a normal Floo trip, like hundreds of others he had taken before. However, for a fleeting moment, the flames had looked almost purple, and the floor almost checkered. The blasted memory was chilling, but it was gone a second later and Ron was transported to his house without any trouble.

The Burrow was just as Ron had left it, bustling with people and in the midst of a celebration.

Harry was welcomed with open arms, and the Weasleys were so focused on him that they didn’t give Ron a second look. He was so lost in his worries that his attempts to follow the conversation were flimsy at best.

Eventually, he showed Harry to his room, where he dodged as many questions about Privet Drive as possible. Ron’s mind was so far away that he nearly lost a game of chess to Harry.

At one point, Ron told his father he’d seen something strange at the Dursleys. He was purposely vague, but it was enough to prompt his father to make some calls. In the end, it was nothing but a false alarm, and his father assured him that everything was normal at Privet Drive.

The day went on, with games, chatter and laughs. Dinner came and went, and after the cake, some small presents were opened. Only when Harry accepted Ginny’s chocolate frog with a polite smile did Ron realize he’d failed to include her in the day’s activities as promised. Ginny didn’t seem too bothered, beaming brightly when Harry thanked her. Then, she stormed back to her room.

In the end, Ron wasn’t sure if Harry had enjoyed his birthday better than he had the year before, but the boy didn’t seem unhappy. He went to bed with a big smile on his face, marvelling at all the tiny displays of magic he had discovered in the Burrow—and undoubtedly feeling way more wanted than he would have with the Dursleys.

Ron’s rest didn’t come as fast. He lay in bed for what felt like hours. He got up up several times to look out of the window, and kept his wand firmly grasped under his pillow. The last thought before he finally surrendered to sleep—completely knackered—was one that would surely not leave him any time soon.

I’m losing my fucking mind.

Chapter Text

2

In more than one way, the days that followed Harry’s twelfth birthday proved to be strikingly familiar to Ron. Not having flown the car all the way to Surrey meant that there were no arguments or extra chores to be had, but apart from that, everything else was just as he remembered.

Summers at the Burrow had always been brilliant, and this one didn’t feel any different to the ones from Ron’s childhood. The warmth of the sun was as playful as ever, and the grass was so fresh that it was almost a crime to stay indoors. With the sole exception of Percy, the family spent most afternoons in the countryside, if only to skip along the orchard or lunch under the shade of a bulky tree.

Inside the Burrow, everything was the same as well. Meals were merry, but a clattering racket nonetheless. And packed with kids as the house was, games and laughter could erupt at any given time, as sudden and noisy as the explosions coming out of the twins’ bedroom.

Harry behaved quite similarly to the first time Ron showed him around, and the boy took to the Weasleys in no time. It’d been no surprise to see him fascinated with all of the Burrow’s oddities. Yet, after all that had happened the previous year, it felt odd to not be smacked in the face with some unforeseen rubbish every now and then. At times, Ron would almost swear that he hadn’t really travelled back in time, but that he was instead living through one of his old childhood memories.

If only that were the case.

Beneath all the smiles and games, things weren’t really the same. Not quite. Ron’s letters to Hermione always asked if she’d seen anything strange, and the Weasleys’ outings were always restricted to the Burrow’s enchantments.

Purple flames and stone chessmen visited Ron’s dreams sparingly over the summer, and only worsened after Harry’s birthday. That blasted trip had muddled things over, leaving Ron wary of his own shadow. His last encounter with the American had been enough of a disaster as it was. Seeing that bastard at Privet Drive—or believing he had—felt like a troll’s punch to the gut.

Ron didn’t know what to think anymore. The American had looked too bloody real back at Little Whinging. On the other hand, it made no ruddy sense for him to expose himself for nothing. He wasn’t stupid. The prick knew there was nothing he could learn from Harry that he didn’t already know. What was the point of showing up at Privet Drive, then? Finding out what kind of telly Vernon Dursley liked?

Yeah right, if he’s interested in Muggles, I’ll fight a dragon.

Whether it had been real or not, it kept Ron watching over his shoulder. He knew he was acting like a ruddy tosser. If Marcus Redfern saw him now, he would bark about how he should get a hold of himself. The older Harry would be in line too, ready to smack Ron on the head for acting like a blithering numpty. Ron didn’t even want to think what Hermione would say.

Hermione .

It’d been almost a whole year since Ron had seen Hermione. His Hermione . The younger version of her was still out there, and he wrote to her as often as ol’ Errol could handle. Still, Ron kept the older Hermione even more vividly in his mind, seeing a memory of her on every corner of the Burrow.

Ron ached for his future wife as one could ache for breathing air. He knew it would take some time before finding his way back to her—especially given how things had gone with that sniffy arse, Saul Croaker—but that didn’t mean he’d stopped aching, or that he’d stop trying to get back to her.

Not like I can go back without first fixing all the bloody mess I’ve made.

The American was his fault. No one else’s. The younger versions of Harry and Hermione shouldn’t have to deal with him on top of everything else. Ron had been the one to let the American follow him into the past. He’d even slacked off and forgot all about him until it was almost too late. If anything bad happened in this timeline—anything at all that didn’t happen last time—there would be no one to blame but him.

Only that something had already happened.

The memory of the young Hermione lying unconscious in that empty classroom haunted him. It made him wonder what would’ve happened if he’d taken longer to arrive. It made him realise what a lousy time-travelling hero he was.

If that was it—if he just wasn’t cut for the task—Ron could accept it. Truly. Over the years, he’d come to terms with his own worth, but all the same, he understood he wasn’t Harry. Ron only wished that fate—or whatever else had put him in this rotten position—would find a more suitable champion before he brought about something he couldn’t take back.

Nothing scared him as much as that. Not being good enough. Making the wrong choice. Hurting a loved one due to his unfittingness.

One day, while contemplating all that could go wrong, Ron was hit by a very specific memory of Percy. It was from the day Ron had asked him if he was afraid of proposing to Audrey.

“ Terrified, ” Percy had admitted then. “ Audrey is so witty and kind, while I’m… not,” he’d said, pausing to adjust his glasses. “ So yes, the thought that I’m not worthy of her and may have misread the signs has crossed my mind. That perhaps she has envisioned a different future altogether. ”

A heavy silence had hung between the two brothers. At least until Ron spoke next, hiding his own doubts behind a good-natured quip . “ Bugger. I’m pants at motivating people .”

Percy had let out an honest chuckle. “Don’t worry. You haven’t deterred me.”  

“I haven’t?”

“Not even remotely,” Percy had assured. “ A rejection would be painful, I’ll admit.  And I won’t pretend I’m not afraid of her answer. But fear of knowledge is, probably, the most irrational fear of all. And, ultimately, fear goes away, but regret… that one lasts forever.”

Ron had seen Percy fight Death Eaters fiercely, and still, he’d never been as impressed by his brother’s nerve as he’d been then—a good couple of years before Ron had dared to pop the same question to Hermione. The words had proven more than Percy’s courage, however. Ron had known then, as he did now, that the proposal hadn’t been the only thing on Percy’s mind when he’d talked about regrets.

War brought regrets to us all.

Even when he couldn’t talk about the future, Ron wished he could spare his brother those old regrets of his. It wasn’t as urgent as the American, but at least with Percy, he could do something besides waiting in the wings like a loafer.

It was so that a week after Harry’s birthday, Ron ventured to knock on Percy’s door.

“Who is it? I’m in the middle of something,” the younger Percy’s voice came from the other side.

“It’s me. Can I come in?”

If there was one thing Ron had always respected growing up, it was the boundaries of others’ rooms. It wasn’t out of an abundance of consideration for his family’s privacy, but rather because it had always been the way of things. While the twins would barge into his room unannounced whenever they felt like it, he’d never dared to reciprocate. The prospect of being hit by whatever was causing the latest explosion in their room wasn’t all that enticing. Ron hadn’t seen Ginny’s room either. She was a girl, which had made her door a foreign threshold for most of Ron’s youth. On the other hand, Percy’s room had often been locked, and Ron had never believed anything fun was inside to begin with.

This time, Percy’s door lock clicked, and Ron pushed it open.

Ron walked in, one step at a time. The room was mostly what he’d expected it to be. The bed was neatly tucked, and the second-hand books on the shelves were all perfectly lined. The plant by the windowsill was interesting, as he never took his brother for a plant person. What took Ron aback, though, were the photos and mementos from friends arranged on the chest of drawers. Growing up, Ron had never imagined Percy having much of life outside books and rules. It was stupid misjudgement, but being fair, it was far from the only thickheaded thing his younger self had believed in.

“Can I do something for you?”

Ron hesitated. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

One of Percy’s eyebrows arched. “I’m fine. Busy, as you can see.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, school hasn’t started yet.”

A huff escaped Percy, “That doesn’t mean one should slack. On the contrary. Revising ahead for the upcoming year is a habit more people should foster, regardless of grades,” he lectured. “Take me, for instance. I did well last term, but there are still many ways in which I can prepare for sixth year. It’s more than just a placeholder between O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, you know.”

Ron cleared his throat unwittingly, suppressing the memory of his own embarrassing sixth year. “I can imagine,” he said in his most casual tone. He took a step towards the desk where a book caught his attention, picking it up without a second thought—to Percy’s chagrin. “Complex Locking Enchantments? Don’t bother with those, Flitwick won’t touch them in sixth year.”

“You’re only about to start second year. How can you possibly know?”

“A hunch.”

“I would rather not rely on hunches ,” Percy said, reclaiming his book.

Nothing on the desk had moved one inch, still, by the way Percy rearranged everything, one would think a gnome had danced on top of it.

“The weather’s great outside.”

“I’m aware,” Percy replied, not even turning towards the window.

“Are you also aware that you’re a git and that we’re going to the pond today?”

Even as he spoke, Ron could hear the excited chatter from downstairs. He knew his mother was almost done packing lunch, and it wouldn’t take long before Harry came looking for him. To be honest, the trip had Ron a tad nervous, what with the pond being outside the limits of the Burrow’s enchantments. However, his father had insisted on all of them going, and Ron couldn’t stay behind. He planned to keep his wand close as a precaution, not caring if doing magic so far away from the Burrow’s walls could get him in trouble.

Percy, however, had every intention of staying alone in the house. Something that didn’t help avoiding his future break from the family.

“Come on, you’ve been cooped here all summer. A break won’t hurt, and I bet the pond will be more fun than whatever you’re planning to do here,” Ron pressed.

“I suppose it will, but that doesn’t mean I have time for playing.”

It was frustrating how his brother kept missing the point. The older Percy was still a bookworm, but at least he had his priorities straight, and family always came first.

Hermione was never this stubborn. Not like this.

It wasn’t that Hermione wasn’t headstrong about schoolwork, because by Merlin’s beard there was no one more nagging about exam schedules than she was. But Hermione also loved to laugh, and Ron could easily sway her away if there was no pressing deadline. Even during first year, when her passion for rules had been at its worst, Hermione always found time for her friends. She wouldn’t miss a trip to the pond, an important Quidditch game, or even most practices, for fuck’s sake. Sure, she would often carry a book along, but whenever she set it aside, it was as if grades were never invented.

Percy didn’t understand that. Not this Percy.

For ages, the twins had taken the mickey on Ron about how alike Percy and Hermione were. It had gotten worse once they’d noticed they could get Ron riled up by suggesting that snogging her would be like snogging Percy. Joking or not, they had landed completely off the mark. Books aside, Hermione and Percy were nothing alike. Percy preferred to work alone, while Hermione thrived in heated arguments and breaking the norms. Percy was an overthinker, whereas Hermione knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to fight for it. Ron was also sure as hell that kissing Hermione wasn’t even remotely like kissing Percy, though he didn’t care about ever proving that point.

After a moment of silence, Percy shifted in his place. Ron wasn’t sure how to approach him. Percy was fifteen and may find any talk about regrets a bit too dramatic for his taste. 

“Family is more important than grades.”

“I’m studying, not leaving the family,” Percy said, exasperated. “And don’t give me that look. I’m half-way through a complicated topic, as you’ve noticed. I can spend time with everyone later, but a bad grade can’t be taken back,” he reasoned. “Besides, you don’t need me to have fun.”

“Rubbish. People are not forever,” Ron shot back. The argument might’ve sounded too mature for his younger self, but his next words were even less expected, “And ‘course we need you, Perce. Things aren’t as brilliant without you.”

Percy looked taken aback by the admission. “Um, thank you.”

A shrug was Ron’s response. He might still manage to make his brother see some sense.

“So, you’re coming to the pond, then?” 

For a moment, it looked as if his brother was considering it. However, Percy’s expression soon sobered. “Sorry, I can’t. I’d rather stay here doing something useful. Grades may not be as important as people, but they’re crucial for our future. The best I can do for everyone, the best we can all do, is get good grades. That’s what is expected of us,” he said, “You’d be doing your part as well if you focused more on your subjects and less on fooling around.”

A chuckle escaped Ron. “You want me to blow off a trip to the pond and stay here like you? With my nose stuck in a book? You’re mental.”

“I didn’t mean the pond,” Percy said, with the twitch of a frown.

“What did you mean then?”

A brief silence followed. Percy hesitated, then took a breath. “I—well, I had high hopes for you, Ronald. You had a great start of the year, excelling in a number of topics from what I could notice.” His frown turned more evident. “But then, you started listening to Fred and George. Taking part in silly pranks, like what happened to Malfoy, and—”

“I had nothing to do with that!”

Percy went on as if Ron hadn’t spoken. “— and then the forest detention. It’s as if you were trying to sabotage yourself! Don’t get me started on the end of the term. Going into a section of the castle that was explicitly off-limits? You disappointed me.”

Ron was gobsmacked and, for the whole of ten seconds, he didn’t know what to say. “Are you out of your bloody mind? I wasn’t toying around in the park, you git. Someone was trying to kill me!”

“It wasn’t your place to be. You should’ve gone to someone wiser. Such as Professor Dumbledore.”

Percy had no clue how close he’d been to doing just that. Plenty of times. However, Ron had chosen his own path, and it had worked out, in the end. Ron was the first to admit his mistakes, but he had avoided the worst. Something Percy couldn’t grasp.

“How many first years do you know who can fight off a grown attacker? I did fine, everyone else said as such,” he shot back. “I kept my friends safe. Reckon that’s something to be more proud of than your stupid grades.”

“Proud? Are our parents proud? They’re worried sick with all these enchantments we now have around the house. And those friends you saved, they wouldn’t have been in danger if you hadn’t dragged them there, would they? Really, I can’t fathom why a great wizard like Professor Dumbledore would reward such a lawless behaviour.”

The words struck a nerve. Percy had said them for the wrong reasons, but that didn’t make them a lie. Their parents were indeed worried sick. Ron’s mother chased him around the house with Calming Draughts, and his father worked hard on those protective enchantments. The trip to the pond was the first one they’d allowed themselves in the whole summer. Then there was that bit about endangering Harry and Hermione.

Ron boiled with frustration, unable to explain or tell him everything he’d gone through. Even then, Percy wouldn’t understand. For all his self-important studying, he didn’t know shit. He was just a boy.

“You have no bloody idea about anything,” he said, gritting his teeth.

His murderous glare caught Percy off guard, but he didn’t back down. “And you do?” Percy asked, looking at Ron as if he were the silly kid in the room.

“Yes! I do know better! So shut up and listen, you git,” Ron blurted out. “You got it wrong. All of it. Your family won’t be waiting for you until you have time for them. Top grades and school rules are worth dung if you’re alone. If you don’t get your head out of the arse soon and see what truly matters, you’ll regret it.”

Percy’s face reddened, and his frown grew darker.  “We’ll disagree then,” he said with his nose up high. “Now, if you excuse me. I’m busy, and you’ve taken enough of my time already.”

“Fine! Suit yourself!” Ron spat, then stormed out of the room.

Fuck. There goes subtlety and not being too dramatic for a stupid trip to the pond .

The pond near the Burrow wasn’t large by any means. It was over thirty feet long, and barely as wide as Ron’s bedroom. At one end, where the water reached Ron’s shoulders, they could get a few strokes out of it, but not much of a swim. Mostly, Ron and his siblings used it to take a dive, or to play along the shallows when they were young. Although, being in his younger body, made the memory feel alive.

Since carefree splashing wasn’t enough, Fred pulled out the water trinkets—several Bouncing Water Bombs and a couple of Woozy Whirlpools . The pond erupted with sprays of water and shrieks of laughter, but despite the chaos, Ron’s mind just wasn’t into it. His bitter conversation with Percy remained fresh, and crossing the Burrow’s boundaries had his shoulders tight and his stomach knotted, constantly scanning the perimeter.

Bloody hell. It’s the summer before second year. Not sixth or seventh. It shouldn’t be like this.

Ron forced himself to take part in the fun—as a normal twelve-year old would. Still, he didn’t stray too far away from the shore, his wand within reach, and kept constant vigilance all around.

The twins and Harry plunged into the water, as if their only concern was dodging Bouncing Water Bombs —which aside from splashing from five-feet high, weren’t really that dangerous. 

“Lighten up,” Fred said, noticing Ron’s half-hearted dodging. “The prefect’s where he wants to be.”

“We told you not to bother, didn’t we?” George added.

They had warned him alright, but Ron hadn’t been willing to give up on Percy. He still wasn’t giving up on him. Once their tempers cooled, he’d approach his brother, not holding onto silly grudges like a teenager. Still, Ron had no bloody idea how to make Percy see reason.

As time passed without incident, Ron’s shoulders loosened. There were no signs of an attacker, or even of Dobby. Ron wondered how he should react if the elf suddenly popped into view, but it seemed unlikely Dobby would appear with his parents around.

Ron’s attention shifted to Ginny, who had spent the entire morning under a large oak with their parents. Despite having her swimsuit and loving the pond, she hadn’t dared touch the water so far. Ron knew she was still intimidated by Harry’s presence, which made no bloody sense given how outgoing she truly was. He’d tried all week to get her to join their games, but she always chickened out at the last moment, retreating to her room with a squeak.

It had gone on long enough. Ron didn’t want her snogging his best friend anytime soon, but she needed to start acting like herself.

“Hey, Gin! Toss me a sandwich, won’t you?” he shouted from the water.

Calling her that wouldn’t sit well with her—as Ron knew—and a frown formed on Ginny’s forehead. Even so, after a few hushed words with their mother, she stood and walked towards the pond. Ron waited until she reached the edge, then pulled her in with a swift move. Caught off guard, Ginny fell into the deep water with a loud splash.

“Ron!” his mother scowled from the shore.

The next moment, Ginny emerged from the water, gasping for air, drowning out their mother’s voice. Her blazing red hair was soaked, and she pushed it from her face to see.

“Ron! You prat! What the heck is wrong with you?!”

A wet sandwich flew in his direction, which Ron barely dodged. The twins laughed and howled, and Ginny splashed them furiously. That was until she spotted Harry smirking, and her frown turned into a blush.

“It was actually Harry’s idea,” Ron hurried to say.

“W-what?”

Ron rushed through the lie before his startled friend could deny it, “Harry dared me to pull you in. He said ‘Ron, pull her! Pull her!’ ”

The girl’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t!” Harry said.

“You know what? I think I heard him,” George chipped in.

Fred scratched his chin, ”I think I did too. Maybe Harrykins thinks his guest status grants him immunity.”

Despite everything, Ron couldn’t help smirking, especially at Harry’s distressed look.

“He said you splash water like a girl,” Ron added, poking at Ginny’s temper.

Ginny’s gaze snapped to Harry, her eyes darting between him and the edge of the pond. She seemed to tense for a moment, but then a defiant look came to her eyes. With a small flick of her wrist, she sent a spray of water towards Harry. The boy blinked in surprise,  and Ron could tell Ginny would have bolted away if Harry hadn’t grinned and answered with a full blown splashing war.

The afternoon took a turn for the better. Fred pulled out a Bouncing Water Bomb he’d been saving, one that he and George had modified to follow people instead of just bouncing about. It was utter madness. The best kind.

Ginny briefly left the pond to change out of her soaked sundress, then dove back in, now in her swimsuit. By the time their mother left to start with dinner, Ginny was already laughing openly along with Harry.

Ron enjoyed the trip way more than he’d expected. At times, he even forgot he was a full-grown man instead of a boy. He splashed and ran. He jumped and dove. He enjoyed the water play as if there were no evil dangers out there. A lapse he’d later berate himself for, because he lost all of his constant vigilance.

Moody would’ve disapproved.

Eventually, the trip was over. Once out of the water, their father cast some hasty Drying Spells on them. Ginny’s shyness returned to some extent, though Ron made sure to keep her close on the way back to the Burrow. He even filled the conversation with plenty of ‘Oh, Ginny likes that’ and ‘Don’t you, Ginny?’ .

All in all, Ginny didn’t say much, limiting herself mostly to pushing her hair behind her ear and smiling. However, she did give a few short answers and wasn’t as afraid of speaking in front of Harry as she’d been at the start of the day.

Helped one sibling and yelled at another. More than enough for a day’s work.

By the time they reached home, Ron was eager to call it a day, but not before a hearty dinner with his family. He was looking forward to his mother’s pork chops, and his mouth watered just thinking of the pudding she’d made for dessert. However, after seeing her waiting anxiously by the door, none of that mattered.

“There’s a man in the house,” she said.

Ron’s heart went into overdrive. They could’ve smashed the blasted pudding to the floor and he wouldn’t have fucking cared. He reached for his wand, forcing his pulse to remain steady. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead as he imagined a pair of mismatched eyes waiting for him inside.

A quick glance confirmed everyone’s shock. He needed to get them all away, and he’d just realised that they weren’t even complete.

Bugger! Percy! That prat is still up there.

“A man?” Ron’s father asked.

“Not a dangerous one, I believe. Someone from work.”

That seemed to relax them immediately. Despite how flustered he still seemed, Harry’s frown lessened. Ginny sighed and, along with the twins, turned to look at their father, still looking quite lost. Ron had recovered his breath, but he wasn’t about to drop his guard. He rushed through the door, beating even his parents inside.

“Ron! Wait!”

He played deaf to their warnings and stormed inside, determined. But what he found left him dumbfounded.

It wasn’t the American.

A shorter, portly man stood in the living room. He had glasses, small ears and a dignified look to him. Ron was startled at once, not because he didn’t know him, but because he wasn’t expecting him at all.

“Greetings, my name is Saul Croaker. You may not recognise me, but I work at the Ministry as well,” the man said, extending a hand to Ron’s father. For a second, his judging eyes landed on Ron.

Ron’s father took his hand. “Hmm, why of course. I do recognise you. I’m Arthur Weasley, by the way.”

Saul Croaker nodded.

What was he doing here? Hadn’t that prick told Ron off when he’d been desperately seeking his help? Had he changed his mind? At the end of last term, Ron had sent him a letter to warn Croaker about the American. Although he never got a response.

“You have quite a security protocol here,” Saul Croaker said, eyeing Ron’s mother, who was standing still a tad nervous by her husband.

“Sorry for the inconvenience. It’s a precaution. I don’t know if you’re aware, but my son got into an altercation with a man a few weeks ago.”

Croaker nodded. “I’ve read the papers.”

Ron wondered what his mother had asked. It couldn’t have been much. She didn’t know him. Perhaps he was an impostor.

Fear gripped Ron, his wand tightening in his hand. Yet, his fear was likely unfounded. If this man was the American, things would’ve been a bloody disaster by now.

“And… What can I do for you?” Ron’s father asked Croaker.

With an indifferent tone, Saul Croaker explained he was searching for a document. One so urgent that it couldn’t possibly wait for Monday, and which Croaker believed had inexplicably found its way to the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts . A big pile of rubbish by all accounts.

“Wish I could be of more help,” Ron’s father lamented. I haven’t brought any office documents home in quite some time. And I would’ve noticed it if I had your document.”

“Would you mind taking a look regardless? It is, as I said, of the utmost importance,” Croaker insisted,  his tone petulant.

After a bewildered glance at his wife, Ron’s father shrugged.

One by one, Ron’s siblings went upstairs as dinner was obviously postponed. His father followed, searching for that document that didn’t exist. Ron’s mother lingered, offering the man a seat and attempting to make conversation, but Croaker pulled out a book, rudely dismissing her. She left with a frown, while Croaker remained standing with his book, as if he’d never been offered to sit down.

Ron made to follow Harry upstairs too, but a few steps later, he stopped. “Err… mate? I’m going to try and smuggle some food out of the kitchen, I’m peckish. Why don’t you set the Exploding Snaps or something? I’ll be up in a tic.”

Harry looked doubtful, but nodded and continued upstairs. Ron watched him go, then turned back to the living room, where that wanker was waiting.

“What do you want?” Ron hissed at Croaker, once he made sure his mother wasn’t around.

The man raised an eyebrow, putting his book aside. “You were the one who wrote to me.”

“Surprised you didn’t burn the letter,” Ron snapped, “Wasn’t that tampering with your oh-so-precious timeline?”

Saul Croaker frowned. “Is this some sort of mockery to you? Of course I never wanted this! I told you to have your memory erased. A warning you heedlessly ignored,” he whispered, irritated.

It was hard to forget that day. Ron had been clinging to this man as his only hope, and he’d cared half a rat’s arse about his distress. Which begged the question again, why was he bloody here now?

Ron glanced over his shoulder, ensuring no one was listening, then turned back to Croaker. “Erasing my memory wouldn’t have done crap. If you must know, there’s another one like me—another time tourist. One who doesn’t care bollocks about preserving the stability of time.”

Croaker wrinkled his nose. “No need to be crass. I am aware.”

“Ha! So you did read the letter? Guess the world didn’t end by listening to a time-traveller.”

Red covered the man’s face. He glanced around, groaning, “Hush! This is not the place.”

It wouldn’t take long for Ron’s father to come back down, that much was certain. However, Ron was pissed at this man. And, considering the American was free and Ron couldn’t return to his time yet, he was in no hurry to get info about Croaker’s so-called Ageing Mirror .

Ron ended up sighing. “So, I take it you weren’t attacked.”

“Two can place protective enchantments.”

“You want to help me then?”

“I want this man to be stopped. And to salvage as much as can be salvaged of this timeline,” Croaker said, adjusting his glasses. “It appears collaboration with you is necessary.”

Ron blinked incredulously. “Blimey. You’ll help me, but you really, really, really don’t want to. Got it.”

A clattering noise echoed from far upstairs, and they both paused, looking up. His father must have stumbled while searching. Faint footsteps resumed.

“We don’t have time for this folly. Write to me once you can. We need to set a meeting where we can talk freely,” Croaker said, then gestured around. “I gather none of them know?”

Ron frowned. “No. My family doesn’t know.” 

“Good. I would rather minimise the number of people aware of your condition . That being said, we need someone capable of taking action, and you don’t strike me as particularly level-headed,” Croaker said, scrutinising Ron. “Does Albus Dumbledore know?”

It was the second time someone suggested something like that this day.

Ron wondered why he’d ever sought this man’s help. Croaker was infuriating and clueless. He was the kind of person Percy would become if he never pulled his head out of his arse.

“I’ve managed well enough on my own,” Ron retorted.

Croaker narrowed his eyes. “Even if I trusted your judgment, you’re still a twelve-year-old boy.”

“I’m twenty four.”

The gnashing of teeth was audible. “You know what I meant. This man needs to be stopped, and you cannot do that from your classroom.”

Ron raised his head high to look him in the eyes. “I know what I’m doing. Dumbledore might not be in the loop yet, but I told him all he needed to be able to track this man.”

“Oh, did you?”

“You’re damn right I did. He wouldn’t be any closer to catching him even if he knew who I was.”

“Did you inform him of any of this man’s place of operations? Goals? Common associates?”

Ron bristled at Croaker’s dismissal. He rolled his eyes at the questions, knowing he had nothing more to tell Dumbledore. That was until he got to the last question, and he froze.

Common associates?... Garvan Ferrara. Aster Prince. Those men at the Department of Mysteries. He hadn’t told Dumbledore about any of them. The American could’ve contacted them ages ago.

Crap.

Croaker noticed his expression, shaking his head and sneering. “I take that you didn’t anticipate this man following you to the past either?”

Ron frowned. He didn’t answer.

“I thought so,” he mocked. “I’ve read of Ron Weasley’s surprising duelling skills in the Prophet, but of your sloppiness… I never knew.”

“Sod off. I’ll tell Dumbledore when term starts,” Ron muttered.

He’d have to talk to Dumbledore sooner or later, there was no way around it. He had to let him know about Ferrara and the others, and perhaps he could help with freeing Sirius. However, and regardless of what he would tell Croaker now, Ron was on the fence of when to do it. If Ron decided to tell Dumbledore, it should be on his own terms.

There may be a way I can tell him about Ferrara, and still have him think I’m a twelve-year old boy.

Croaker eyed Ron carefully, “The wait is pointless. I should speak to Dumbledore myself.”

“No! What would you tell him? It’s me who knows these things,” Ron insisted. “Term starts soon. I’ll deal with it, and I’ll set that bloody meeting with you. Just wait.”

The footsteps became louder. Someone was coming down.

Croaker gritted his teeth. He huffed and leaned forward. “Listen, boy. This is no game. I treat matters with due diligence, and expect others to do the same. From what I can tell, you don’t. You just wing it , as they say,” he whispered with a tone of contempt. “You’re the kind who means well but keeps making mistakes. Foolhardy and unreliable. More a convenient tool than a leader. The sooner you let those who know best decide, the better. Otherwise, people will get hurt.”

Ron’s blood boiled, but he was speechless, gaping.

Before Ron could respond, his father entered the living room. “Ron? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, don’t mind him. He was retelling me the story of how his headmaster saved him,” Croaker said, causing Ron to clench his fist. “Any luck with those papers?”

“Unfortunately not. I’m sorry. They’re not here,” Ron’s father said.

“Shame. I better keep looking then. I appreciate the attempt,” the man answered, bowing before leaving the house.

As Ron climbed the stairs to his bedroom, he made an effort to push that prick’s words away. Croaker was as clueless as Percy. Neither of them knew squat about what it was to be in Ron’s place.

Yes, Ron had made mistakes. But he’d also managed to stop the American mostly on his own. He was an Auror; he knew how to deal with this rubbish. And Dumbledore… He had good intentions, but also plans Ron would rather not go through again.

Reaching the top floor, Ron heard a loud banging. Someone was jumping on his bed, and things were being shoved from his drawers. He was about to enter when he recognized the squeaky voice, and his hand froze on the doorknob.

Dobby. Brilliant. Just what I needed.

Ron hesitated, but decided to wait. Once the house-elf left, he would enter and ask Harry all about it, then he would take it from there.

You’ll just wing it .

With a frown, Ron pushed the words out of his head. It didn’t matter what Croaker thought. If it were up to that wanker, Ron wouldn’t do anything that changed the timeline. And he had to. He had to keep Ginny safe, and avoid the whole Chamber mess as well.

It was going to be a hurdle of course, but if he’d handled the stone, he could handle this as well. He would show them.

Chapter Text

3

As he’d done every day since the visit to Privet Drive, Ron woke up early. He crept to the window, pushed it open, and surveyed the sun-washed fields. He stared for a while, making sure that no one stared back.

“Are you sure she isn’t upset?” Harry asked.

“Who?”

“Your sister.”

Ron gave a last glimpse out of the window, then walked back to his chest of drawers. “Did she look upset to you?”

“I didn’t think so. She looked quite chuffed, to be honest.”

Shocking.

The day before, Ginny turned eleven. Their mother prepared a mouth-watering dinner and a moist chocolate cake for the occasion. There were gifts and a bright atmosphere all day.  Ginny was now Hogwarts age, and her first shopping trip was just around the corner.

No. Ginny was definitely not upset.

Ron pulled on a baggy old shirt, his ginger hair popping out of the neck hole. “Then what’s the fuss about? You didn’t even know it was her birthday. She wasn’t expecting a gift.”

Not like she wouldn’t have fawned all over it if she got one.

Harry sighed. “I guess so, but— Are you sure? Maybe I should have given her something. She gave me a chocolate frog for mine, remember?”

Ron dismissed it with a shrug.

The Harry from his timeline hadn’t given any presents to Ginny while at Hogwarts—not that Ron could remember. Harry hadn’t even noticed her until her fifth year, and then the ruddy war had complicated things. Besides, if Ron’s memory wasn’t playing tricks on him, Harry had once asked if he should give her a present, and Ron had discouraged him. His younger self had insisted that Ginny was only his little sister, and not Harry’s friend or anything.

Lucky that Ginny never found out.

Ron and Harry quickly dressed, chatting and planning their day. Not once was Dobby mentioned.

Less than a week had passed since Dobby appeared. At first, Harry was curious about the warning and house-elves, but Ron and the twins had convinced him it was all gibberish. It was best he believed Malfoy sent Dobby as a prank. If by any chance Dobby was revealed ahead of time, it could only bugger things over for Ron’s plans. It would be dangerous for the elf too.

That didn’t mean that Ron was comfortable not knowing where Dobby was, or ignoring what the blazes he was planning. That bleeding elf was too dogged on protecting Harry for his own good.

He can’t get Harry in trouble with the Ministry, at least. Not like last time.

The Burrow was a magical household, and within its boundaries, the Trace wasn’t tracked. There was no way Harry could breach the Restriction for Underage Magic while he was inside those walls—which only made Dobby’s next move a complete mystery. Whatever he planned to do to keep Harry out of Hogwarts, Ron knew it would be something capable of driving him nuts.

Not like Dobby was the only one he needed to watch out for.

Ron glanced at the window, fighting the urge to look out again. He was just being paranoid. The American couldn’t cross the Burrow’s enchantments, and Ron had other things to worry about.

This was Ron’s second time through second year, a completely different experience from his timeline; and even from last year, when he’d been mostly set on returning to his future. That was no longer the case. Nothing stopped Ron from changing time now. However, things weren’t going to be easier because of it. How could they be when that bloody American was on the loose and that blasted diary was out there?

The future was a big fucking puzzle, and Ron didn’t know if he could to solve it. If there was one thing he was sure of though, it was that this mess wouldn’t end with Ginny lying unconscious in the Chamber of Secrets. Not in a million fucking years. If there was one future he had to change for the better this year, it was hers.

Ron paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Look, mate. If you really want to, you can pick something for Ginny at Diagon Alley. We’ll be there next week.”

“Oh, right. Umm, what does she like?”

“Quidditch,” Ron answered at once.

A smile spread across Harry’s face, surprised. “Brilliant”

“Nothing too expensive, or too flashy,” Ron warned.

Harry agreed quickly and followed Ron downstairs, where they joined the rest of the family for breakfast. Ron’s mother greeted them, handing the boys two identical envelopes of yellowish parchment.

Ron didn’t bother opening his letter. He knew it contained only an obnoxious list of pricey textbooks —all written by Gilderoy Lockhart.

He snorted. He’d almost forgotten about that fraud. Even so, Lockhart could be a problem if Ron didn’t watch out. The man could, after all, cast fairly dangerous memory charms.

“Did Errol arrive?” Ron asked eagerly.

It was of course a stupid question. He could see Errol perched on the sofa from where he was. The owl was still heaving from his long trip.

“It’s from that girl again,” his mother said, giving him Hermione’s letter and a suspicious look. Fred smirked, nudging George. “I’ll keep an eye on you. Your brothers say —”

“They’re just teasing,” Ron groaned, avoiding her eyes. Even knowing he was in his mid-twenties, he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.

“So you say, young man. But I’ve dealt with my fair share of Bill’s admirers . I’d rather you not follow his footsteps in that regard, especially at such a tender age.”

“Mum!”

The twins were still smirking when the steps of the staircase creaked again.

“Who are we talking about?” Ginny asked.

“Ronnie’s girlfriend,” George replied at once.

“Oh, Henrietta?”

“Hermione!” Ron shouted, exasperated, only to quickly add. “And she’s not my girlfriend!”

Ginny’s face lit up with amusement, and when Harry smiled at her, she beamed as if her birthday had come for a second day in a row.

Great. Now Ginny’s taking the mickey on me too. Why not?

One undeniable change was the teasing. It hadn’t been anywhere near this bad the first time around—not in second year. Ron had no idea how it could change things if Hermione heard them, but it wasn’t something that made him lose sleep. Bigger things had changed already.

Ron’s mother rubbed her forehead. “Just give Errol some time to recover. That poor owl is drained.”

As if on cue, Errol let himself collapse on the sofa.

That dramatic ball of feathers… Pig wouldn’t have been half as pouty.

Ron’s face softened at the thought of Pig. Despite his past complaints, he missed the skittish owl. Could Pig be at a pet shop out there already? Considering how young he’d been when Ron first got him, it was more likely that Pig wasn’t even born yet.

Percy walked down next, all prim and proper with a prefect badge gleaming on his sweater vest. Ron wasn’t as riled up with his brother as he’d been when they had that big row, but he still frowned when he saw him arrive.

If he brings up Hermione too, I swear I’ll mention Penelope Clearwater. Let’s see how he likes that.

The name reminded Ron of his fight at the Ministry, where an Auror named Penelope Padgett had all but saved his sorry arse. He’d thought of Padgett several times since he’d arrived in the past, but had yet to see her at Hogwarts. Ron wondered if this was the year she started in school. He couldn’t remember her from his first time at Hogwarts, but he hadn’t always been the most observant of students, so there was that. He would recognise her now for sure.

Unfortunately, Penelope Padgett wasn’t the only name that came to Ron from that night. There had been other names as well—like Garvan Ferrara or Aster Prince—names he’d been too stupid to share with Dumbledore.

The thought was brushed away when Percy took a seat at the table.

“So, what does it say?” Harry asked Ron, once he finished going through his school letter.

Ron smiled, rushing to unfold the parchment filled with Hermione’s handwriting.

“`Dear Ron, and Harry,

“`I’m glad to hear that everything is all right and that Harry is at your house now, Ron. I was worried that something bad might’ve happened to him, what with the unanswered letters and all. You’ll have to tell me all about it, but please consider using a different owl. I don’t think this one can survive another trip.

“I myself am doing fine. As I keep telling you, there hasn’t been anything strange happening here. I think that man may have left’” Ron read flatly, knowing his mother tensed at the mention of the American. “Anyway, I’ve been revising last year’s schoolwork. I can’t forget about what we’ve already learned now that a new term is coming,’” he continued, his smile returning. “I’m excited about getting our new books from Diagon Alley. Dad said Wednesday works great for us too. Can’t wait to see you there!

“Let me know a time and place that’s best to meet. Love from Hermione.’”

“ Love from Hermione, ” George repeated, faking a mushy tone.

Ron threw a pea, which George dodged. The twins burst in laughter, but Ron decided to ignore them.  Hermione’s letter had put him in too much of a good mood to care. In her previous letter, the girl had suggested going to Diagon Alley on Tuesday, and Ron was relieved to read that she could be there on Wednesday instead.

As it happened, Ron wasn’t free from juggling events in this new timeline. He’d made the conscious choice of altering time, but he still depended on this or that rubbish taking place. The most important case in his near future was Riddle’s diary. It was a nightmarish object, but Ron had to lay his hands on it if he was to stop a lot of bad things from happening. To his blasted luck, he needed Lucius Malfoy for that, and also a chance meeting to repeat itself.

He wasn’t hopeful. He’d learned Lockhart was signing books at Diagon Alley next Wednesday—hence his insistence to Hermione—and he’d also made sure his mother was well aware of it. But there was no guarantee the Malfoys would show up. What other option did he have though? He couldn’t very well knock on their door and search for the diary himself, much less with the Underage Restriction pestering him. He had to try his luck at Diagon Alley first. If he didn’t manage to get the diary then, he would have to find it once at Hogwarts.

You’ll just wing it.

Ron huffed, pushing that effing voice away.

Breakfast was quick, like any other, except Ginny seemed less shy. She wasn’t her old self, or as open as before Harry arrived, but she didn’t seem that scared anymore. She even spoke to Harry when he asked her for the butter.

As soon as he was done, Ron stormed upstairs to write a response to Hermione. Thankfully, Harry offered Hedwig for the job, as a new delivery would’ve been the end of Errol. Curiously, Ron didn’t notice signing the letter with “Love, Ron” until it was long gone. Something he didn’t remember doing while at Hogwarts.

Hermione won’t think anything of it. She signs her letters the same way after all.

Ron watched Hedwig grow smaller and smaller until she was lost in the horizon.

“What do you want to do?” he asked Harry.

As if on cue, the twins knocked on his door.

Weatherwise, it was a splendid day for Quidditch—warm, though not scorching hot. Gusts of air rustled the leaves under the shifting shade of cottony clouds. The gentle breeze was so refreshing that it was almost as if the orchard was screaming to be played at.

Casual Quidditch matches were a Weasley summer tradition, but unfortunately the orchard hadn’t seen much action this year. With the American at large, they weren’t supposed to get too close to the limits of the Burrow’s enchantments. Their mother considered it a huge risk and—as much as he loved Quidditch—so did Ron.

That hadn’t wrecked Fred’s resolve. For weeks now, he’d begged and begged their mother for a chance to brush the dust off of their brooms. At first, there wasn’t much success, but after the trip to the pond proved to be almost uneventful, she reluctantly gave them permission—followed by a thousand warnings to stay within the enchantments of course.

Ron thought it was a dead awful idea, but the more he argued, the more his arguments against Quidditch started to sound like madness. So he gave in and followed the twins outside.

If things come to that, I guess I could take my chances with that prick.

As boneheaded as it sounded, a part of Ron that wanted his rematch with the American to happen sooner rather than later. Perhaps if it did, and if by some twist of fate Ron came out on top, things would be back on track. He’d be able to focus on Voldemort, or on freeing Sirius. As many bleeding challenges as those tasks could bring, at least Ron knew what to expect from them.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re afraid of Quidditch,” George said, handing Ron a broom.

Ron took it brusquely.

“Ronnie doesn’t want to get crushed by his far-more-talented brothers. That’s what this is all about,” Fred teased.

“You’re bonkers. Harry and I can take you.”

Fred chuckled. “Doubtful. Harrykins can fly, but he’s made the unwise choice of offering everyone a turn with that magnificent broom of his. No way you come out on top.”

Maybe I can watch out for danger and still teach Fred a thing or two while I’m at it…

Before closing the shed, Ron spotted an old broom. He turned. “Wait. We should get Ginny.”

“Ginny? What for?” asked George, raising an eyebrow.

“She likes Quidditch. She might be good at it.”

“Does she even know how to fly?”

Ron shrugged, not meeting their eyes.

The twins exchanged a look. “Tell you what,” Fred said, leaning on his broom. “Go ask her. If she’s up for it, you can have her. Three on two, we don’t mind. But one condition.”

“What?”

“We get the first turn on the Nimbus 2000.”

Ron didn’t even flinch. “You’re on.”

It took some convincing to get Ginny to join. Nothing major though, as once Ron mentioned Harry being curious about her flying, Ginny pouted and dragged her feet to the orchard.

If the Ginny from my time saw me teasing her younger self, she would smack the grin right off my face… Not like that made it any less amusing.

The orchard wasn’t a grand field. The whole area was half as long as the pitch at Hogwarts, and with an irregular shape at that. There were no Quidditch rings, or white lines delimiting the field. However, it was more than enough for a casual game.

Ron couldn’t help but smile. As much as he would rather avoid the risk, he just couldn’t be mad at Quidditch.

He kicked off and flew over the trees, Harry and Ginny beside him. Fred circled on Harry’s broom, flirting too close to the edge of the enchantments.

“Let’s stay a few yards closer to this side. You know what Mum said.”

Fred rolled his eyes, but flew closer nonetheless. Then, he dashed to the centre of the paddock and started the game without further ado. Harry and Ginny couldn’t stop him. They were caught by a surprise almost as big as the one Fred got when he fired their old patched ball and Ron caught it without a sweat.

“Is that the best you can do?” Ron taunted.

“Oy! Too early to brag, if you ask me.”

Fred’s next attempts were no better. He struggled to get past Ron. And once Ginny and Harry coordinated, As fast as he sped across the paddock, He struggled to get past Ron. And once Ginny and Harry found their footing, the game became more even.

Truth be told, Ron got lucky with a few of the saves. His hands were shorter and he wasn’t as strong as he’d been in his older body, but by Merlin did he remember the gist of it. He knew where to position himself, and his reflexes were as good as ever. Playing Quidditch again was so exhilarating that he even stopped reminding people to stay within the boundaries.

Soon it was Ginny’s turn to fly on Harry’s broom. Her cheeks when she first grabbed the handle, but once in the air, George couldn’t do much but trail behind her.

“Damn! Have you two been practising behind our backs?” Fred asked when they gathered for a break.

Ron shared a wide smile with Ginny. “Maybe it’s you who’s getting worse.”

“Rubbish! We’re in shape. I really thought we had this, even with the disadvantage.”

George shook his head. “It pains me to admit it, Ronnie, but you saved a few good ones back there. I’d tell you to try out for the team if Wood wasn’t such a tough one to crack.”

“He should try out anyway, if only to scare Wood,” Fred argued. “It’d be worth it just to see his face.”

Ron dismissed the idea. He had more important things to sort out at Hogwarts than Quidditch—as sacrilegious as that sounded. Besides, wasn’t trying out for the team like cheating? He’d be taking the spot of some other kid. And, no matter if Ron remembered him as the strong Puddlemere Keeper, Oliver Wood counted as a kid too.

“And you,” George chipped in, causing Ginny to gasp. “Since when do you know how to use a broom?”

Ginny’s cheeks showed a healthy flush as she stuck her tongue out. “It’s none of your business.”

The twins shook their heads in disapproval.

“You know what? We have to go back to teams of two,” Fred admitted, “It’s Harry’s turn with the Nimbus. That’ll be the final nail for us if we don’t shake things up.”

The team shuffling brought a few surprises. Not much changed when Harry sat out, but when it was Ron’s turn on the bench, the twins snatched their first win—not Earth-shattering, since both Harry and Ginny were terrible Keepers.

The game went on for an hour or so, until a clumsy mechanical roar caught made them all look down. Ron’s eyes widened when he saw the old Ford Anglia riding through the orchard with its turquoise shell. In the driver’s seat was Fred, who was supposed to be the one on the bench. No one had seen him leave to fetch the old car.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Ron shouted as the car stopped and everyone flew down.

Fred stepped out with a grin. “This, my dear brother, is a car. Muggles use it to move around.”

“I know what the hell it is, but why is it here? Dad would flip out if he knew we took it.”

Maybe not quite, but still, this was a stupid idea.

Fred looked unfazed. “Relax, Percy the second ,” he said. “Watching you was boring, so I thought: ‘ You know what, Fred? Let’s show our guest —that would be Harrykins here— a smashing show. Bet he doesn’t see many flying cars in Surrey. ’”

“It can fly?” Harry asked, baffled.

“Of course! Not as fast as your broom, mind you, but it’s certainly more roomy,” answered Fred, slapping the roof of the car. It didn’t look like the car could handle the rough bump, but Ron knew it could endure much more than that. Much, much more.

Ron huffed. “It can fly, big deal, so does a dragon and you don’t see me wobbling to get onto one, do you?”

“What’s got your knickers in a twist today?” asked Fred. “This car spit fire, if that’s your fear. In case you’ve forgotten, riding it is rather dull.”

“Then why did you bring it out, if it’s so bloody dull?”

Fred frowned.

George climbed into the passenger seat. Despite looking torn, Harry already had the door to the backseat open, waiting for Ron to approve so he could hop in.

Ron sighed, rubbing his forehead. “There’s a reason why Dad set up the enchantments.”

The reminder of the American weakened Fred’s frown. He hadn’t said much about it, but Ron remembered a hint of worry behind their jokes back when they first heard the story. “We’re not stupid, Ronnie. I’ll just drive a few laps around the Burrow—well within the limits. Harry will get to see what it’s like, and Mum won’t even know.”

“Dunno… I guess there’s no harm if we don’t cross the limits, but— What if something goes wrong?”

“What can go wrong? I bet you nothing even remotely exciting is ever going to happen to this old car.”

Ron almost laughed.

“I don’t—”

“I want to go,” Ginny announced. She stole a curious look at Harry, then tentatively passed him to climb into the back seat.

Before Ron could argue anything else, Fred shoved him into the car. “You’ll thank me later.”

Harry climbed in beside Ginny, and the car roared to life. With an uneven momentum, the old piece of junk stumbled into the air. It flew over the orchard, then circled so close to the Burrow that Ron couldn’t argue about the enchantments’ limits.

Perhaps I’m just too bloody paranoid.

“Oh, that’s my room. I left the curtains open,”  Ginny said excitedly, as if she’d never seen her bedroom before.

The Ford Anglia went as high as Ron’s room, and then some. The trip was comfortable, and they never flew too far away from the Burrow. When they landed back in the orchard, Fred gave Ron a look.

“Brilliant, wasn’t it?” George asked, jumping out of the car.

Ron joined him outside. “Alright. I’ll say it. It was actually quite fun.”

Harry reached for the door, but it slammed shut, throwing him inside. George’s and Ron’s doors slammed too, leaving them gobsmacked on the ground as the car lifted.

“Fred! Stop this! It’s not funny!”

A mop of red hair came out of the driver’s window and Fred shouted, “It’s not me! This blasted thing is moving by itself!”

The Ford Anglia soared over the trees, gaining speed. It flew beyond the Burrow’s limits, carrying Harry, Ginny and Fred inside.

Crap.

Ron rushed to the paddock, kicking himself over the distraction. He grabbed the brooms and mounted the Nimbus 2000.

George stopped right next to him.

“See if you can keep up.  Fly low, in case you need to catch someone. I’ll get to the ruddy car,,” Ron said. George grabbed a broom as Ron picked up two more. “We’re missing one.”

“Bet it’s Fred’s. The git must’ve taken it when he went looking for the car.”

“These two will have to do then.”

Without wasting time, Ron kicked off, racing after the car. But catching it was harder than he thought.

Blimey! Since when does that old piece of junk fly this fast?

Ron pulled from the Nimbus’ handle as the car went even higher up. He knew the broom could go faster, but he didn’t have any Quidditch goggles, and the wind was harsh against his face. He also carried two extra brooms he didn’t want to drop.

The trees below became smaller and smaller as the car reached the clouds. The air grew colder and thinner, the blustering wind made it harder to breathe. Ron pursued from a safe distance, adjusting to the height. He kept turning at all sides, half-expecting to find a pair of mismatched eyes.

That prick did this. It was a trap and I fell right into it like the biggest dolt there ever was.

The American didn’t show his face, however. Ron only saw a vast greenery and barns that were too far below to distinguish. No Muggle would spot them, which was a small blessing. Ron doubted they were used to flying cars.

Ron felt light-headed, but he increased the speed, slowly gaining on the car.

Looking back, Ron saw the Burrow far behind. George trailed closer, near a group of ospreys. The car flew unperturbed up front, as at that time Ron and Harry flew it to Hogwarts. Ages ago.

How did I allow this to happen? It’s like that fucking trap door all over again.

Ron gritted his teeth. He was from the future for fuck’s sake, he could change time. Still, things rarely went his way. He’d just been juggling things, putting people in danger, letting them tag along.

Maybe that’s where I’ve been getting it wrong.

Ron pushed forward, shielding his face from the wind. The Ford Anglia got closer, and Ron steered, looking for an opening. He went left, then right, then left again. However, every damned time the effing car turned in another direction.

That flying tin-can is avoiding me! What the fuck is controlling it?

When he looked past the car, Ron swore. The town of Ottery St Catchpole was barely a dim silhouette in the horizon, but growing sharper by the second.

Why would the American take us there? Why didn’t he attack the moment we crossed the Burrow’s limits? What would he gain by— ? Unless— No. Fuck… Dobby?

Ron had forgotten Dobby. But it made sense. Fred lost control inside the enchantments. The American couldn’t breach them. It had to be Dobby.

That freaking elf.

What was Dobby even trying to do? Crash the car into town? It was mental. But again, Dobby wasn’t the sanest when it came to keeping Harry out of Hogwarts. Hadn’t he once released the bludger from hell to go after Harry?

A car crash though? Someone had to teach that barmy elf about magnitude!

Ron leaned forward, pushing harder. He didn’t stop until he reached the car’s rear, ducking behind the boot. The car cut through the wind, making it easier to breathe.

Through the rear window, Harry and Ginny banged, trying to get his attention. Their mouths moved, but Ron couldn’t hear a hoot from them. Looking out, he saw the town closer, they’d be spotted soon. As if that wasn’t enough, Ron knew the American could appear at any moment. He may not have taken them out of the enchantments, but he could well take advantage of Dobby’s little trick.

He needed to hurry.

He lunged left, reaching for the door with his right hand. It was a terrible idea. One of the brooms he’d been carrying fell down, and Ron got a nasty look of all that air when he dove to stop the other one from slipping as well. The first broom fell so far that it turned into a dot in the distance. Ron never knew when it hit the ground. 

Merlin’s fucking beard tied to a hippogriff! That’s too fucking high!

Ron gulped, forcing himself to focus. He tucked the remaining broom under his armpit, scrabbling to control the Nimbus with his left hand. Once steady, he gripped the car’s handle with his right, not looking down.

“We can’t get out!” Ginny cried through the open window.

“Move back!”

Ginny and Harry did as told. Ron pulled the handle. It wouldn’t budge.

“It won’t open! We told you!”

“I can see that now!” Ron shouted back, his red hair whipping violently with the wind. The car swayed, trying to get away from Ron’s grip. He didn’t have many options. “Stay there! You too, Fred!”

Ron let go of the handle for a second and took his wand out. “ Reducto !”

The car’s door blasted off from its hinges and the car recoiled from the strength of it, jerking Ron’s broom. As the car swayed back, Ron dove in, swearing in relief as he landed in the back seat.

Fred blinked. “You have to try for the Quidditch team. That was some wicked control there.”

Yeah, right. Control.

“Do you reckon we should exchange pointers now? Seems like a great time to talk about Quidditch,” Ron blurted, then sighed. “Sure you can’t turn this crap around?”

Fred started the car, turning the wheel hard. Nothing changed. Ron glanced out, seeing the tires turn, but the car went its own way.

“If you want to give it a shot, be my guest,” Fred said, turning the car off.

“Bugger that. Take this. I dropped the other one,” Ron shouted, passing him the broom he hadn’t dropped. Then he gave Harry the Nimbus 2000.

“Wait, what about you?” Harry asked.

“Take my sister. I’ll ride with Fred.”

Ginny mumbled that she could ride alone, however, their number of brooms was quite limited. Harry nodded, and flew out with a deep red Ginny clinging to his waist.

Fred climbed to the back seat. He gave Ron a hard look. “You and I both know this ol’ twig can’t hold two people,” he said, trying to give him the old broom back. “I’ll stay.”

No fucking way. The car wouldn’t be hard to handle, but even if was, there was no universe where Ron would leave Fred. Not again.

“I have a better shot at controlling this junk.”

“Oh, yeah? What will you do? The Reductor Curse ?” Fred asked, narrowing his eyes. “I admit that I’m impressed. We barely started with that one last year. But unless you have something more under that tricky sleeve of yours, I don’t think you can get out of this one by blowing the car to pieces.”

Blimey! The spell— I didn’t even think Doesn’t bloody matter now anyways.

“Just get out, you git. George’s right behind. You two can catch me if I fall. You’re stronger. And Harry will be back once he’s dropped Ginny off. He’s faster, and has an even bigger chance, I reckon.”

Fred crossed his arms. It didn’t look as if he was leaving.

Ron’s relationship with the twins was complicated. When he was younger, he’d always wished to be half as amazing and fun as they were, despite them bullying him just for the giggles. That was only the surface, though. Ron and George had grown way closer after the war, but even back in his childhood, he knew they’d stand by him against anything. Be it a young Draco Malfoy, or a crazy old flying car; they were there for him.

Not like he was putting them in danger because of it.

“Out!” Ron bellowed.

Before he could get a response, the car shook. The speed dropped drastically, and the bonnet leaned forward almost in slow motion. Then it started its descent.

What the— !

“Wind roared through the windows. Ron couldn’t see straight, much less think straight, but in a rush of sanity, he shoved Fred out of the car.

“You’ll thank me later!” Ron shouted through the tempestuous wind.

Fred tumbled out. Ron leaned out to make sure Fred had mounted the broom, but the car flipped on its side, and Ron fell out.

The world blurred. Ron plummeted at a maddening speed, all he saw were dashes of green and blue. He was still holding his wand for dear life, yet he couldn’t decide on any spell until he knew which way was up.

Out of nowhere, someone grabbed him and the world stopped spinning. It was Fred. His hair whopped in the wind, but he looked otherwise euphoric at having reached Ron. The joy lasted about two seconds since—as they’d feared—that sorry excuse for a broom struggled under their weight. It slowed their descent somewhat, but they were still falling.

Fred pulled up with all his strength. But they weren’t stopping. The broom handle bent.

“Let go!” Ron cried. “It’ll crack!”

Before he could think, Ron felt something grab onto his shirt. They stopped mid-air, and Ron turned up to find Harry, smiling widely.

“Humphf…. Well… huff… About damn time,” Ron joked, heaving.

“It’s going to crash,” Fred said.

Below, the Ford Anglia was reaching the end of the road, about to crash on a farm in the outskirts of town, where innocent people didn’t expect raining cars.

Ron didn’t waste a second thinking. He let go of Fred and pointed his wand downwards as he held onto Harry. “ Wingardium Leviosa! ”

A loud crack echoed when the car lost all of its momentum, stopping just feet away from hitting the ground. Ron lowered it gently by a barn.

He climbed onto Harry’s broom. George finally caught up to them as they hovered down, and they all landed on the hill where Ginny was waiting.

It wasn’t every day that Ron felt relieved to climb down from a broom.

I swear, if I didn’t owe my life to that bleeding elf… What the fuck was Dobby thinking?!

Downhill, head-scratching Muggles surrounded the Ford Anglia, scratching their heads. Bringing it back to the Burrow would be a hassle, but they could hardly leave it behind.

“It’s all my fault,” Harry said, naturally. “We saw Dobby on our way down. I tried to stop whatever he was doing. When he saw me, he popped away and the car came down. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting—”

“You saved my life, mate. You’re the last person to blame here. Put that in that thick skull of yours.” Ron blurted.

“Only after you saved us.”

Fred dragged his feet heavily. He patted Ron’s back, looking pale. “Oy! Don’t discourage him, Ronnie. At least let me pretend for a moment that it’s not me who Mum’s going to murder.”

“Right. About that… “

Ron went on to explain the story they needed to tell their mother. It involved minimising the height they’d been flying at, and turning the whole thing into a magical accident. Last thing they needed was to expose Dobby.

Fred and Harry disagreed, thinking Ron deserved recognition—a silly suggestion, as the flying feat was overblown and undeserving of any praise. They were still arguing when a group of people arrived at the scene of the crash. By the way they dressed and their prompt arrival, they couldn’t be anything but Obliviators.

Perfect. Just bloody perfect.

Moments later their mother arrived, looking murderous and riding the broom Fred had left behind. She scolded them about leaving the Burrow’s limits, and for how spare she’d been going, shifting between anger and relief with a maddening pace.

It didn’t take her long to notice the Obliviators.

“What in Merlin’s name happened here? Is that your father’s car?” Ron’s mother asked, her voice tight with fluster.

“Most of it,” George replied, “There’s a door about two miles from here.”

Their mother blinked. “Well then, can you explain this as well?”

She pulled a letter from her pocket, her frown deepening. They gathered around, and by the end of the letter, Ron’s face had drained of all color.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,

We have received intelligence that a Reductor Curse and a Levitation Charm were performed near the village of Ottery St Catchpole this afternoon at five minutes past four.

After serious analysis, we came to the conclusion that the caster of these spells is possibly one of your children. We have a team in place to confirm. As you should be aware, underage wizards are not permitted to perform magic outside school. Due to the closeness in time of these transgressions, we’ve been lenient and are considering this as a single infraction. However, may this be a warning that any further spellwork on the culprit’s part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles, such as the ones living in the village of Ottery St Catchpole) is a serious offence under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy. We received reports of Muggle sightings in your area, and your children appear to be involved.

Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE

Ministry of Magic

Well, what a rotten turn of events.

Having been an adult it was easy to forget that the Trace still applied to him. Inside the Burrow it didn’t matter, but once outside its limits, Ron was subject to it as any other kid.

The Obliviators made their way to them. They found out that it was Ron who broke the Underage Restriction. The Ministry had already detected the Levitation Charm , so it wasn’t hard to pass the whole thing as a spell gone rogue. After all, saying the car flew due to a haywire spell cast by an underage wizard, and not because someone had tampered with it, was the best approach.

It would avoid questions about Dobby at least.

Ron could almost read the Prophet’s headlines: ‘ Stupid kid makes car fly. Breaks Underage Restriction, but stops short of breaking the Statute of Secrecy. Loses car’s door in the process’.

Brilliant. Just the kind of news that will convince that wanker Croaker that I can’t be relied on.

Ron couldn’t help but think how ironic this whole situation was. He’d saved Harry from getting a Ministry warning, only to get one himself. At least Fate had a sense of humour, even if Ron thought himself was the joke.

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?

Chapter Text

5

The remaining days of the holiday slipped by with Ron in a constant state of agitation. No one else at the Burrow shared his uneasiness. Almost everybody was in high spirits; either prattling over the dashing summer they’d had so far, or already planning their first weeks at Hogwarts.

As difficult as Ron found it to join in on the fun, he didn’t have a choice. He was supposed to be a twelve year old, so he had to pretend all was fine and dandy. He spent whole afternoons with Harry and Ginny, and neither of them had the slightest clue about Ron’s tribulations. Not even the twins found anything strange with his behaviour whenever they teased him; and when they made their grand display of Filibuster fireworks, Ron was the first in line for the show.

Ron’s parents were more attentive. He got the feeling they were watching him, and talking about him in private. They couldn’t suspect he was from the future, but Diagon Alley gave them more than enough to worry about. Ron’s half-arsed excuse that he’d thought Seamus was calling for him didn’t convince his mother, and the only reason he wasn’t awarded with a new batch of chores was because his father had purposely left out that Ron had landed at Knockturn Alley.

“ Not a word to Molly ,” his father had said.

Away from his mother’s vigilant eyes, Ron’s nightmares worsened. Ron was so on the edge that he couldn’t even take a bloody shower without remembering his sly voice, taunting him. If he let his guard down for even a moment, the steam would feel like black dust, and the tiles on the wall would blur into a chessboard pattern. 

Had that bastard been there at all?

Ron had many theories about his pointless pursuit; from the American only toying with him, to the very real possibility that he’d imagined the whole damn thing. Ron couldn’t be sure which guess was closest to the truth, but either way, he felt restless and burdened.

September first eventually came around. That morning, the Burrow was once again a loud racket of people rushing through last-minute packing.

They reached King’s Cross Station with only a few minutes to spare. Ron’s father had arranged for a Floo connection beforehand, without which they might’ve not made it. After making the headlines of the Daily Prophet, the Ford Anglia had to stay home. Although Ron wasn’t particularly crushed about missing the flying ride to Hogwarts, it still felt strange to imagine the second year train ride.

As the Weasleys scurried through the crowded station, Ron’s thoughts drifted back to the previous year. He hadn’t seen King’s Cross then, as his arse had been thrown straight into the Hogwarts’ Express. Landing in the past had been jarring, but Ron couldn’t help but realise that he did keep some sense of normality for a few months. Whatever changes had occurred early on were mild compared to what was happening now: missing Tom Riddle’s diary, having a new Defence teacher, and dealing with a time-travelling madman. This time around, everything was starting off on an entirely different track, and Ron didn’t know how much his prior knowledge would help him navigate this new reality.

“Percy, you go first,” Ron’s mother instructed once at the platform.

Without wasting a second, Ron skipped ahead of the twins and gave Harry a gentle shove forward. Dobby might want to lay low after his little stunt with the car, but Ron didn’t want to risk being left behind if that jittery elf closed the entrance again.

They scrambled onto the train, where Ron caught a glimpse of his mother’s teary face waving goodbye to Ginny. It was the first year that his parents would be alone at home without any children, something that hadn’t crossed his mind on his own timeline. He waved back at his family, even nudging Percy to do the same.

It didn’t take long to locate Hermione’s compartment. She was sitting by the window, completely absorbed in a book, a plump orange cat curled up next to her. It felt like a picture-perfect memory rather than reality.

“Starting on second year books? Please don’t tell me we have homework already,” Ron joked, feeling his weight lift.

Hermione smiled, closing the book. “Actually, it’s one of our books from last year. I’m reviewing to keep it fresh.”

Ron chuckled. “You mean you haven’t memorised all of last year’s books by heart?”

“I— Well, it never hurts to review, right?” she said, fidgeting, then putting the book away.

They placed their trunks on the top shelves, and Ron shoved Scabbers’ cage just beside them. He wouldn’t touch that filthy animal again unless it was strictly necessary, and as tempting as it was to put the cage next to Crookshanks— whose gaze followed the rat with rapturous attention —it wasn’t the time or place to reveal that secret yet.

The train roared, signalling their departure. Ron moved Crookshanks aside and sat next to Hermione, forcing a blushing Ginny to take the seat next to Harry.

Over the past weeks, Ron had encouraged his sister to open up more around Harry, hoping to make her part of the group early on. Diary or not, he wasn’t leaving her alone this time around.

It was sometime later that Hermione noticed the green and yellow scarf around Ginny’s neck.

“Where is that from? It’s not from any Hogwarts house.”

“Oh, it’s a Holyhead Harpies scarf,” Ginny answered.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and Ron clarified, “That’s a Quidditch team.”

“Oh, I see. it’s quite pretty.”

“Thanks. Harry gave it to me, for my birthday.” Ginny said, beaming.

Hermione turned to face Harry, who seemed suddenly very interested in the scenery rushing past his window. He’d given Ginny that scarf the day after Diagon Alley, and she hadn’t taken it off since. The twins nagged them the first few days—even forgetting to tease Ron about Hermione for a while. Eventually, they’d let it go, but Ron doubted Hermione was going to be the last person to ask about the scarf.

Maybe next time he’ll listen to me and stick to the good ol’ Chocolate Frog. Those never fail.

They fell into an easy conversation. At one point, the twins stopped by to say hello, and Ron caught glimpses of other students passing outside the compartment—like Neville searching for his missing toad again, and Katie Bell chattering with her friends. Ron knew it was only a matter of time before Malfoy made an appearance. It was a tradition for the git to invite himself into their compartment on the train ride to Hogwarts. Ron couldn’t believe he wanted to see that tosser, but he could use clues about what to do next.

The diary must be somewhere on this train. If only I knew where, I’d be out there looking for it. 

Ron cast a worried glance out into the aisle, hoping to see someone waving the diary around in front of them. But he knew that was as likely to happen as Dumbledore appearing clean shaved at the feast.

“Any guesses on who our new Defence teacher might be?” Harry asked a few hours later. “Now that we know it’s not Lockhart.”

“That was a close one, mate. You laugh all you want, but you should be thankful we dodged that git.”

Harry looked amused, but Hermione frowned. “Honestly, Ron, I don’t understand your problem with him. Gilderoy Lockhart is a renowned author in the field of Defence Against the Dark Arts. We’d be lucky to learn from him.”

We’d be lucky to keep our memories, if he found us too pesky.

“I just hope whoever it is, they’re not like Quirrell. I still can’t believe he was helping Vo—” Harry stopped, glancing at Ginny. “You know.”

It’d take time for Harry and Hermione to trust Ginn. At the moment, she was just Ron’s quiet little sister to them. Ron knew her better. Underneath her shyness, there was a feisty and quick-witted girl waiting to be freed. Even now, she looked at Harry with her brow furrowed, suspecting he was hiding something.  

“Quirrell was an ally of that man . The one Ron fought last term,” Hermione explained. A brilliant save, as Ginny knew about the American. “But don’t worry. I’m positive Professor Dumbledore will be extra careful choosing teachers.”

“The man we fought,” Ron corrected her. “And I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Don’t believe there are many jumping to take the Defence position. Reckon Dumbledore is scraping at the bottom of the barrel to fill that one.”

“Whoever we get, it can’t be worse than Quirrell,” Harry said.

Ron nodded, shivering at the memory of a certain toad-faced woman.

Frankly, it’d been a while since Ron thought about Quirrell. Last he heard, the man was still unconscious at St Mungo’s, and no one knew if he’d ever wake up. Ron didn’t know how he should feel about putting him there.

Harry stood abruptly, pulling Ron from his thoughts.

“What is it?”

Harry didn’t turn. “It’s nothing, I think I saw...Never mind, I’ll be back.” And with that, he left their compartment.

“What was that about?” Ginny asked.

“It could be Draco Malfoy,” Hermione answered with a hint of bitterness. “He loves to bother people, and unfortunately, Harry hasn’t learned to ignore him just yet.”

She was wrong. Malfoy wouldn’t pull Harry away. The git wouldn’t miss the opportunity to gloat about some stupid rubbish in front of an audience. Ron had a bad feeling.

“I’ll go look.”

He shut the door, scanning both directions. Harry was a few compartments away, chasing after someone. Ron couldn’t tell, but whoever it was had to be small, probably a first year or… Damn it, Dobby.

Ron sprinted, berating himself for forgetting about the elf. It wasn’t until he caught up to them that he could make out Dobby’s dishevelled clothes, pointed ears, and effing large eyes.

“You have to understand. There’s no place for me other than Hogwarts,” Harry pleaded to Dobby.

“You! What are you doing here?” Ron asked.

Dobby jolted at the sound of Ron’s voice. “Dobby is protecting Harry Potter. He mustn’t go to Hogwarts. Terrible things will happen there.”

“We’ll be fine. At least we won’t be plummeting to our deaths like we almost did in that old car you jinxed,” Ron reproached him.

A pang of guilt flickered across Dobby’s face. “You must forgive Dobby. No one was supposed to be left inside. Dobby didn’t mean to kill anybody, only to severely injure,” Dobby said, his tone casual and apologetic. He then hit his head against the compartment wall. “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”

“Stop that!” Harry exclaimed, pulling him away.

Ron already knew Dobby was a bit barmy, but the elf punishing himself helped no one. Not only would he get hurt, but others might notice and come out to check the kerfuffle. If Malfoy caught wind of Dobby’s presence in the train, it’d mean nothing but trouble.

“Can we talk about this later?” Ron whispered.

Determination filled Dobby’s eyes as he shook his oversized head.  “Dobby will do what he must to keep Harry Potter safe.”

Ron’s heart raced, watching Dobby reach for Harry, fingers poised. Without hesitation, Ron lunged, grabbing Harry just in time. An unknown force pulled them both away, compartments and windows to twisting before their eyes. 

A peaceful second year train was obviously too much to ask for. 

As Ron took in his new surroundings, his hand instinctively reached for Charlie’s old wand in his pocket. His training as an Auror kicked in, but it was clear they weren’t in immediate danger.

King’s Cross. Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant…. Of course we’re stranded at the platform again, because I’m such a big fucking fan of cosmic jokes.

Ron sighed, checked on Harry, and scanned the place for any signs of threat. Muggles hurried across the station, blissfully unaware of the two kids who had just appeared out of thin air. Dobby was nowhere to be seen, while Harry—who hadn’t had much experience with apparition yet—was leaning against the wall trying not to retch out whatever he ate off the trolley earlier.

A minute passed before Harry regained colour. “What happened? Is this... King’s Cross?”

Ron was calmed and fully aware of their situation by then. “Dobby must have apparated us here. That little devil is dogged on keeping you from going back to Hogwarts.”

I swear, once I save that elf, I’m going to —  Oh, forget it.

Harry rubbed his eyes, studying their surroundings. “What do we do now? The train is more than halfway there, and when it shows up at Hogsmeade, they’ll know we’re not in it.”

If his past experience was any indication, Ron could say that Professor McGonagall—their head of house—wouldn’t be thrilled about it. However, whatever they did now couldn’t possibly be worse than being seen by muggles and harming a supposedly valuable boxing tree.

They couldn’t return to the Burrow. Not if they wanted to avoid explanations about how they left the train.

“We’ll have to catch up with it,” Ron said, considering their options. Flying was out of the question—not like that worked too well last time. “Reckon our best shot is taking the Floo to Hogsmeade. We’ll have to get to the Leaky Cauldron, though.”

To their rotten luck, the Floo connection arranged by Ron’s father wouldn’t be available anymore.

Harry’s brow furrowed. “The Underground would be quickest, but we need muggle money for that, and it’s been ages since the Dursleys gave me any pocket money.”

“Do you have any wizarding money? Around twenty sickles, maybe a little more?” Ron asked. When he nodded, Ron urged him towards the exit.  “C’mon, we’ll take the bus.”

The Knight Bus left Harry awestruck, though he wasn’t as surprised as the conductor—a pimpled lad who hadn’t expected to meet Harry Potter that day. The lad blabbered, but Harry, still recovering from the apparition, barely noticed. It was a small miracle Harry didn’t barf out the contents of his stomach with the violent driving.

“Couldn’t this take us all the way to Hogsmeade?” Harry asked as they sped through muggle London.

“Ah, you’d like that, wouldncha? Not the first one to ask, you know,” the conductor said, amused. “We’re not allowed to ride all the way there. Not on this day, we aren’. Ministry regulations an’ all that.”

Ron had taken the Knight Bus back to Hogwarts before, during Christmas break, but for September first—the busiest day of the year—everyone was required to take the Hogwarts Express. It was part of the protocol, Ron imagined, as even the people using Floo arrived at King’s Cross Station instead of Hogsmeade. Normally, Ron wouldn’t mind—he’d always enjoyed the train ride—but today that bloody protocol was nothing but a pain in the arse.

The Leaky Cauldron was nearly deserted at their arrival. Dusk had settled since they left the station, and with most of the Diagon Alley shops closed, Ron hadn’t expected a bustling crowd. Tom, the innkeeper, was nowhere in sight, but the fireplace was readily available to them.

“Where should we Floo to?” Harry asked. “I don’t know much of Hogsmeade, other than the train station.”

A few remaining customers glanced up, then quickly returned to their drinks and hushed whispers.

“There are plenty of shops. One of them must have an open connection. Let’s try Honeydukes first,” Ron suggested.

Mr Flume had always struck Ron as a cheerful man. However, Ron couldn’t predict how he’d react to a couple of kids tapping into his Floo connection without warning. Not like they had many alternatives.

Harry appeared nervous, and Ron shared this concern. Even at his age, getting on McGonagall’s bad side still sent shivers down his spine. That being said, the prospect of running into the American again was far more worrying, regardless of whether they landed their arses in detention or not.

They were discussing how to obtain Floo powder when a booming voice cut into their conversation.

“What a surprise! If it isn’t Ron Weasley and Harry Potter!”

None other than Arwin Plank strode into the pub from Diagon Alley’s direction, looking quite confident in his bright green vest and fancy dark grey trousers. Ron couldn’t guess what the man would want with them, but it couldn’t be in any way good.

“Mr. Plank? What are you doing here?” Harry asked.

“Why, I work down the street, in case you’ve forgotten,” Plank said. “What about you two? Weren’t you supposed to catch a train?”

Ron and Harry shared a quick, uneasy glance. They couldn’t lie about not being in the train, but they didn’t have to Dobby either. “Someone had a portkey on the train—a silly prank. We somehow ended back at King’s Cross station,” Ron said.

At his side, Harry looked confused, but didn’t contradict him. Ron made a mental note to explain to him what a portkey was later.

The man raised an eyebrow. “I see. And now you’re using floo powder to get to Hogwarts?” Plank guessed, noticing their location near the fireplace.

“Hogsmeade,” Harry corrected, glancing at Ron. “We’re looking for some floo powder so we can get through to Honeydukes.”

Plank’s face lit up. “You don’t have any floo powder? You should’ve started with that! I have heaps of the stuff back at the shop, and I would be happy to share.” Without waiting for a response, he turned around and motioned for them to follow him.

Harry appeared flabbergasted. However, before Ron could come up with a proper way to decline Plank’s offer, the boy sprinted towards Diagon Alley’s entrance. “Let’s go!”

“Wait, Harry!”

Bleary lamps illuminated Diagon Alley as they followed Plank’s brisky steps. Ron was on high alert. As far as trustworthy people went, Arwin Plank was very low on his list—white charming smile and all. The fact he’d showed up in Diagon Alley when Ron had never heard of him in his timeline seemed too coincidental. Plus, Ron had just recently battled an American time-traveller at Hogwarts, and now another American happens to show up? Yeah, he was not fucking buying it.

“I don’t like this,” Ron whispered to Harry.

His friend hesitated, but kept walking. “How else are we going to get floo powder?”

Ron frowned, watching Plank. Following the train in a flying car felt suddenly less stupid than this. Plank couldn’t have possibly known they’d be at the pub, but he could very well take advantage of his luck. For all Ron knew, there could be an ambush waiting for them at that dodgy shop.

“We don’t want to be a bother. We can find powder elsewhere,” Ron blurted.

“Is that so? Where?” the man asked, gesturing to the closed shops. “It’s no inconvenience, truly. I’m glad to help.”

It was hard to argue against that logic, though Ron’s unease grew. Something over a week ago, he’d been running through this very place, chasing after a different American.

It didn’t take long to reach their destination. In the dim light, Zonko and Plank’s Joke Shop looked like an eerie shadow—the unworthy ghost of what Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes should be. A faint light shone from inside as Plank unlocked the door.

“Worried you’ll need that soon?” Plank asked. Ron wasn’t sure at which point he’d pulled out his wand, but Plank seemed unfazed by it. “No need to explain. I was warned against strangers in my youth too. As good as my intentions are, you barely know me. Wise thing, to be cautious.” Plank stepped inside. “Would it help if I said you’re more likely to harm me than the other way around?”

Harry, wary since seeing Ron’s wand, looked befuddled. “How so?”

“I’m a squib,” Plank proudly declared, smiling. “I possess as much magic as this stool or that notebook,” he added, gesturing to items as he made his way to the counter.

Ron wasn’t convinced; it could be a ploy to lure them in. Nevertheless, he took the opportunity to explain to Harry what a squib was.

“Uh, I’m sorry?” Harry muttered, stepping into the shop.

Ron gave Harry a panicked look that his friend didn’t meet. He had no choice but to follow the boy inside, his gaze scanning for any potential dangers in the empty aisles. Devoid of people, the place reminded him more of his brothers’ future shop, of all those times he closed the business for the day and the shop appeared uncommonly quiet. Just being there felt like a massive betrayal.

“ Sorry ? Silly thing to apologise for,” Plank chuckled. “Me being born a squib isn’t your fault, Harry—can I call you Harry ?—and frankly, it doesn’t bother me at all.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Nope. Nada,” Plank replied festively.

Rubbish . If this man truly was a squib, he wouldn’t be so casual about it. Being a squib was often a cause of shame. It meant either leaving the wizarding world behind or becoming a second-class citizen. No one said it was fair, but as much as Hermione and Kingsley intended to change that, the truth was that squibs didn’t have it all fine and dandy at this point. Plank was lying; he couldn’t possibly be so at ease.

Plank, sauntering behind the counter, seemed to read Ron’s thoughts. “Magic is my life. I wouldn’t deprive myself of its wonders just for the happenchance that I can’t cast it myself. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m doing quite fine without a wand.” He gestured at his whimsical establishment. “I find the brandishing of money distasteful, but I admit it does even the playing field.”

From one of the drawers, he retrieved a small bag, tossing it to Harry. The boy tried to catch it, butRon raised his wand and blasted the little bag in the air. There was a small puff, and a soft shower of green dust fell upon them. Plank soon found the tip of Ron’s wand aimed at his chest.

“Floo powder, Ronald. See what I meant when I said I posed no danger to you .” Plank raising his hands.

Fuck.

When Ron had set foot in the shop, he’d been expecting a duel. Instead, he felt like the villain, menacing an unarmed man who by all accounts appeared at his mercy.

Harry’s eyes widened, looking between Ron and Plank. “We’re really sorry, Mr Plank. We appreciate your help.” Harry pleaded with Ron, who reluctantly lowered his wand.

Ron couldn’t blame Harry. The American accent may have made Harry suspicious, but he didn’t know what was coming. He didn’t know that Plank was an intruder—a mysterious figure in what second year was supposed to be. All Harry knew was that his friend had threatened a seemingly harmless man whose only apparent sin was offering them help.

Plank waved off the incident and handed them a new bag of Floo powder, leaving Ron feeling like dung.

They turned back to leave. Far away, Hermione and Ginny were on the Hogwarts Express, with no bloody idea of what might’ve happened. The train wouldn’t have arrived at Hogsmeade yet, but Ron and Harry had to hurry.

“Back to the Leaky Cauldron? Because my fireplace is just steps away,” Plank said, gesturing to the door behind him. “I have a convenient connection to Mr Zonko, and I can ensure a quick passage to Hogsmeade without troubling the Honeydukes keepers.”

Harry looked bewildered. “Would you let us use it?”

The man pushed the door open. He seemed to have forgiven Ron, since his easy smile had returned. “Why, of course! I remember what it was like to sneak back into school. Granted, mine was a muggle school, but I swear we had teachers just as fearsome.”

“I doubt it,” Harry said. Ron didn’t have to be a seer to guess his friend was thinking about Snape—the git they had for a Potions teacher. “Come on, Ron. It’s the fastest way back.”

Ron had a mountain of misgivings, but after nearly assaulting the man, he couldn’t argue. He followed Harry.

Blimey. I even cast that spell non-verbally, Ron berated himself. Still, a quick glance told him that Harry hadn’t given much of a thought about it.

The back room had plenty of whimsical objects. Some appeared muggle, but most were clearly magical in nature. There were stacks of books, and quills apparently taking inventory by themselves. On the wall, a moving tapestry showed a horse running through American-looking settings. There were bouncing balls, and muggle speakers; gloves labelling boxes, and an espresso machine too. It was the right combination of magic and muggle trinkets that could turn Ron’s father nuts.

Half as mad as it was when the twins owned it though.

Ron made his way past the tables, never losing sight of Harry or Plank. He kept his wand in hand, still not quite convinced that Plank was as friendly as he appeared to be.

“These are brilliant,” Harry said, marvelled.

Arwin Plank smiled, smugly. “They are, aren’t they? I did say I loved Magic, and not being able to enchant items doesn’t mean I can’t buy them from others.”

“So, you’re really a squib?”

Before Plank could reply, a chiming yet confident voice echoed. “Ignore those with no manners. Bigots spew such nonsense to make up for their narrow-mindedness.”

When Ron turned, he found himself face to face with the portrait of a middle-aged woman, dark-skinned and poshly dressed. She looked beautiful, though there was a certain wilderness in her eyes too. The picture in the frame didn’t seem to be moving.

“Uhm, I’m not a bigot,” Ron responded.

The woman in the portrait spoke again, her painted lips not moving. “A troll can believe it’s a dragon all day long, but that doesn’t mean it’ll sprout wings,” she said. “It’s like that girl, you know who I’m talking about, the one with that god-awful fringe. What was her name again? Oh yes, Beverly. She lived next door to Mr Miller’s cousin’s wife. Do you remember her? Charming woman, but as likely to become a curse breaker as a cursed tomb is to turn into a bubble-headed girl. I don’t know what was wrong with her, but whatever it was, it must’ve been difficult to pronounce.”

“What the hell?” Ron blurted out.

“Watch your words, young man. I raised you better than this. Tuck in your shirt too, you look like a hobo.”

Ron shifted from confusion to embarrassment. His shirt was tucked in. He’d checked. Arwin Plank chuckled in amusement.

“Sorry about that. I must’ve left her on .” Plank turned towards the portrait, cleared his throat, and commanded, “ Backroom Portrait. Silence. ” Instantly, the portrait stopped waffling rubbish. Plank faced them again with a smile. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce my mother: Nuna Plank, the famous widow of Marina District, and the mouthiest witch in the whole West Coast.”

Confused, Harry asked, “Did you just turn the portrait off ?”

Ron was puzzled. He’d seen plenty of portraits in his life, but never one quite like this.

“Handy trick, right? My mother never had the patience for magical painters. She was always saying she’d get around to having her portrait done at some point, but disease found her first. Family is not forever, you know, but it always comes as a surprise when you actually lose someone,” he explained with a hint of sadness. The man clearly cherished his mother, though it seemed as if she’d been gone for quite some time.

Ron felt conflicted about finding a human being behind the person he’d convinced himself to be his enemy. And, without meaning to, he found himself relating to the man’s grief. He thought of Fred—the one from his timeline—who had built his dreams around the place where he was standing now.

“It’s a tad unfair, isn’t it? That he doesn’t get to enjoy this with us,” the future George had often told him, in his most earnest moments.

Unfair was such an unfair word. It felt so bloody small to convey what one truly meant.

Staring at the image of his mother, Plank’s smile grew wider. “Anyway, I commissioned this portrait after her passing. I had it enchanted to repeat phrases from my memory. There are certain triggers that activate it, similar to a muggle tape recorder. That’s where I got the inspiration,” he said. “Mr Zonko has the instructions. I’ll tell him to share them, if you’re interested.”

Ron thanked him, but he had no intention of accepting the offer. There could be a trap hidden in those instructions.

“I have a collection of items like that. I come up with the ideas and hire skilled wizards to bring them to life. Most of them are based on muggle inventions. Muggles do know more than the magical community gives them credit for, don’t they?” Plank asked with excitement, before letting out a wistful sigh. “But enough about that, I can show you my collection some other time. Now, I believe you’re in a hurry.”

The fireplace burst into green flames with the powder Plank had provided. As if that wasn’t enough to go by, Plank loudly called for ‘Zonko’s Joke Shop’ and the person who answered on the other side was obviously the real Zonko. It baffled Ron, since he’d been expecting a ruse to be hidden somewhere.

It was safer to let Harry go first. Plank didn’t complain, and never gave any indication that he planned to attack them. It wasn’t until the two of them landed at Zonko’s without any sort of trouble, that Ron finally allowed himself to doubt his previous assumptions.

Maybe he’d gotten it wrong. Maybe Plank wasn’t really an ally of the man with the mismatched eyes, but some sort of freakish coincidence instead. Whatever the truth was, it was sure to keep Ron wondering for a while.

Ron couldn’t believe his luck, and for once, he was genuinely happy about it. Not only had they arrived at Hogsmeade without any trouble, but they’d made their way to the station without drawing any attention. As soon as they heard the train whistle and saw it pull to a stop, they scurried in the opposite direction of the gathering crowd.

“Harry! Ron! Where did yeh two come from?” a familiar voice boomed out.

“We’ll explain later, Hagrid,” Harry replied, rushing onto the train.

Hermione and Ginny were taken aback. They stood up from their seats as the boys barged into the compartment, instantly bombarding them with questions about where they’d been. But there was no time for explanations, and by the time Harry and Ron changed into their school robes, the train was nearly empty.

Outside, most of the people had left the platform, leaving Ginny to scuttle after Hagrid and the rest of the first years. Ron followed Harry and Hermione towards the carriages, a ride he hadn’t taken in several years. He was welcomed by the melancholic stillness of thestrals, exhaling puffs of cold air through their skeletal noses.

“What are you looking at?” Hermione asked, seeing him stare.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to see the thestral, Ron shook off his wistful memories of Fred and followed her up the carriage. “Nothing. Let’s go, I’m starving.”

There wasn’t much of a chance to talk about their crazy day on their ride to the castle. Sue Li and her friend Mandy had climbed on the same carriage as them. The Ravenclaws shared their excitement for the upcoming school year, along with the obligatory “ Did you really crash a car over the summer? ” questions.

The majestic Great Hall was soon in their sights. The enchanted ceiling, displaying a fraction of the starry night sky, was as breathtaking as always. Ron navigated through the mass of eager students to reach the Gryffindor table. He didn’t feel as out of place as he did when he’d first arrived in the past—swearing he’d gone mental, or was lost in a crazy dream— however, having not been present for the Sorting Ceremony during his second year meant that the setting before him still felt unfamiliar somehow.

It didn’t take long for Ron to spot Malfoy on the opposite side of the hall. He was engrossed in conversation with his two podgy bodyguards. If Malfoy truly had the diary, it’d unfortunately require more than a mere glimpse across the room to find any evidence.

As everyone settled in, ghosts began to glide above their heads. Ron and Harry exchanged greetings with the other Gryffindors, avoiding questions about their whereabouts during the train ride. Ron’s mind kept going back to Arwin Plank. The man had seemed genuine for a moment, but Ron couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was an impostor.

At the teacher’s table, a woman sitting a couple of seats away from Snape caught his attention. Her skin was bronzed and she wore her long, dark hair in a braid. Her robes were of a deep teal colour, with intricate beadwork designs that Ron couldn’t fully appreciate from the distance.

“Is she the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?” Neville asked.

“She must be. She’s the only one I don’t recognize,” Parvati replied.

Ron’s curiosity took a backseat as the first years entered the Great Hall. Among them was Ginny, and when she waved in their direction, Ron eagerly returned the gesture.

One by one, Ron listened to the names being called, and he could easily predict the house where those he knew would land. His stomach clenched when he saw the over-enthusiastic Colin Creevey make his way to the Gryffindor table, remembering the boy’s motionless body at the end of the battle.

“Everything alright?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, it’s just—  Yeah,” Ron assured, joining in the cheers.

Brilliant. I’d almost forgotten the other ghosts that haunt me here. 

By the time Luna skipped happily to her table, he was composed, and applauded almost as loudly as the Ravenclaws. More names came, and Ron was keenly waiting for his sister’s sorting—which he’d missed the first time around—when a different name caught his attention.

“Penelope Padgett,” McGonagall called.

Ron almost toppled over. He saw a plucky girl walk towards the hat, undoubtedly the same person who’d fought alongside him in the future. Ron leaned in closer, curious to see which house she’d be sorted into. He owed Penelope Padgett his life, and it was hard to believe they’d shared the same school for five years and Ron had never noticed her. At least, not until they were frantically seeking shelter from curses in the ruins of the Ministry’s Atrium.

The girl sat on the stool with easy determination, and the hat fell on her head. Then, in the most unexpected of turns, it yelled, “Slytherin!”

Ron was left open-mouthed as Penelope Padgett, beaming with joy, made her way to the other end of the hall. The woman who had fought at his side in the future had never given him Slytherin vibes—she’d had a sense of humour for god’s sake. This must’ve been some mistake. Or maybe something Ron did had already altered her sorting. Stranger things had changed.

“Do you know her?” Dean Thomas asked.

“Uh, no. It’s just— Got the feeling she’d end up in Ravenclaw for some reason, and I’m usually a good guesser,” Ron answered, weakly.

He was still trying to remember his interactions with Penelope Padgett when Ginny was finally called. He forced himself to focus on his sister, and soon he was standing up with the rest of the Gryffindors in roaring applause.

Dumbledore rose. “Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts!” he began cheerfully. “Before we begin our feast, I’d like to introduce our new addition to the teaching staff—the only one this year. Please join me in welcoming Professor Sequoia LockLear!” The tall woman with braided hair stood up, waving at the students. After a round of applause, she took her seat again. “We are fortunate to have Professor Locklear as our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, bringing in a fresh perspective. She joins us all the way from America, making her presence here an exciting cultural exchange and learning opportunity. Let’s make sure her stay is enjoyable and we give her the best impression Hogwarts has to offer.”

The twins—who Dumbledore had stared at for the last part of his speech—went on to whisper animatedly as the rest of the students cheered.

Bloody hell. Another American? What the hell is going on? This can’t be another coincidence, can it?

Throughout the feast, Ron couldn’t shake off his unease. Plank. Locklear. Penelope Padgett… He wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. Thoughts and plans swirled in his head long after Percy escorted them upstairs. Even so, lying in his bed while staring at the canopy above, a sudden realisation hit him. One that was even more shocking than anything else that had happened that day.

We got away with it.. . We left the train and snuck back into Hogwarts; and Snape was none the wiser. Now that was a first.

Chapter Text

6

By the next day, however, Ron’s confidence had dwindled. As great as not getting caught had been, it wasn’t much of an accomplishment in the grand scheme of things. Far from it. There were a dozen bigger problems on the horizon, each more likely to land his arse in an early grave than in detention.

Ron scrambled to carry on as a normal twelve year old would, but even while talking to Harry on their way down, he couldn’t shake off the unease weighing on him. The familiar movement of the staircases felt amiss. The portraits, although not as odd as Plank’s, seemed to follow them with their eerie eyes, waiting for an eventual mistake. Old pesky drawings. It wasn’t as jarring as when Ron had first arrived in the past—a whole year ago, now—but he still felt out of place, as if he were rummaging through some long-forgotten dream.

Even more distracting were his fellow students—plenty of whom he’d seen as adults in his previous life. Ron watched their younger versions pass by with eager grins, lost in the retellings of their summers, unaware of the looming dangers within and outside the castle. Here and there, one would glance their way with curiosity before returning to share gossip.

Guess crashing a flying car still made headlines, even if it didn’t hit the blasted willow.

The usual buzzing welcomed them into the Great Hall, which today showed a dreary, grey blanket of clouds on its ceiling. No one paid them any mind as they took seats across from Hermione, who was nibbling on her porridge while going over a book—her umpteenth revision of last year’s material by the looks of it. She greeted them with a smile, unsurprised to find Ginny next to them. The two girls had spent a good chunk of the train ride by themselves, and must’ve settled in with each other to some extent.

“What’s with the scarf?” Dean Thomas asked after the introductions, “Are you aware our colours are red and gold?”

“Better than you, she is,” Ron retorted.

Ginny looked taken back by the attention, and clutched on tight to her scarf. “I-It’s from the Holyhead Harpies. Harry got it for me.”

Next to Ron, Harry pretended to be interested in his plate.

Dean went on to ask about the Quidditch League and their colours, bringing Ron to expand on Ginny’s short answers. It took him some effort to avoid coming off too blunt.

Ron wasn’t too peeved about Dean forgetting that—as a Weasley—his sister had known Gryffindor’s colours long before he had. He couldn’t say he minded going at length over Quidditch teams’ colours and mascots either. Nonetheless, he was cautious about any interaction between Dean and Ginny. It seemed silly, though. They were kids without any effing idea of any other timeline. But at the same time, it was easy to be buggered by one or two uncomfortable memories.

All in all, Ron preferred keeping Ginny close. It was her first day at Hogwarts, so he’d made sure she tagged along for breakfast—an addition to their group he planned to make permanent. Diary or not, there was no way in hell he was overlooking his sister this time around. He’d even included her in the discussion the night before, when they’d finally told Hermione all about Dobby and Diagon Alley.

That hadn’t gone quite the way Ron had hoped.

“You were lucky Mr Plank found you. There’s something strange about that elf,” Ginny had said.

About Dobby? Sure, the elf was barmy, but it was Plank who they should be watchful of.

That was a concern Ron’s friends didn’t entirely share. Not as they should. From Harry’s perspective, Dobby had proven to be more dangerous, and Ron couldn’t blame his logic. It didn’t help Dobby’s case that the elf kept foretelling Harry’s doom at Hogwarts as if he were the second coming of Trelawney. Hermione was a tad more sceptical of Plank’s intentions, but still more interested in Dobby. Even when Ron had been purposely vague about the elf’s self-punishing habits, it was anyone’s guess if Hermione had any early plans for SPEW.

At least they’d all noticed the unusual amount of Americans around lately and found it strange, if not downright dodgy.

“What do you make of the new Defence teacher?” Harry asked, glancing at the teachers’ table.

Ron took a bite of his bangers. “I don’t trust her.”

“You don’t? Why not?” Neville asked.

“I just don’t.”

Neville stared at the front table with trepidation, as if searching for signs that the new teacher might be as much of a prick as Snape was.

To be fair, there didn’t appear to be anything threatening about Sequoia Locklear. She gave the impression of being a reserved woman, yet still talked warmly with the rest of the staff. At one point, she even laughed at one of Flitwick’s jokes.

But it could all be an act.

The post soon arrived. Dozens of owls swooped down, delivering the first packages of the term into the hands of the expectant students. Ron hardly batted an eye when Errol rolled over toast and scrambled eggs to deliver a letter from the Burrow—a short message wishing them luck and which was mostly addressed to Ginny.

At least that tosser, Saul Croaker, didn’t send a snarky note to remind me of his low expectations.

Ron stabbed his breakfast with the fork. Croaker’s words stung, but he knew the tosser was right. There was too much at stake. At the very least, he needed to talk to Dumbledore and fill him in on the American’s accomplices. That didn’t mean he was looking forward to it. Ron had made it this far without reaching out to Dumbledore for a reason, and doing so now felt like admitting he wasn’t good enough.

If only I could have some sort of win before then. Something to show them that I’m not a complete dolt.

A small package was dropped next to Neville. “Must be Gran sending all the stuff I forgot.”

“Wouldn’t be the start of term without you forgetting a thing or two.”

It may have been an odd thing to say considering this was just the second start of the term to his friends, but they all took the joke in good spirit. Well, all of them but Hermione.

“It’s not funny, you know. It’s not like Neville forgot anything on purpose.”

“I don’t mind, really,” Neville said.

Ron saw no point in arguing. “Sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to make fun.”

The conversation went on with the castle’s ghosts hovering above. Ron glanced at the entrance a couple of times out of sheer habit, but the American wasn’t there. The bastard was likely halfway across the world, and Ron may have well imagined him over the summer.

Ron’s eyes studied the Great Hall, finding nothing worthy of attention until he spotted Malfoy. The git was going over his mail, surely wondering how to botch everyone’s day.

So, Daddy wrote to the ferret… Could it have something to do with that rotten diary?

Whatever else he was capable of, Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t put his son at risk—at least Ron didn’t think he would. But then again, maybe Lucius wasn’t fully aware of the evil lurking within that ruddy book, of the darkness something like that could unleash.

I have seen your heart…

Ron turned back to his plate with a knot in his stomach. He couldn’t afford to let his thoughts wander down that path. He had to remain strong-willed if he was to get that diary. And it was the most urgent task at hand, he’d already decided that.

As much as it pained him, Sirius could wait a few more days. Ron intended to free him at the earliest opportunity and had Crookshanks ready to reveal the rat, but for now, Sirius wasn’t in immediate danger. Not like others would be if the chamber were to be open.

The rest of the Horcruxes weren’t as urgent. Sure, they were crucial for defeating Voldemort, but they weren’t going anywhere. Not for a couple of years at least. More importantly even, none of the others were on the verge of unleashing a fucking basilisk into the school.

“Hey, Weasley! Good morning.”

Startled, Ron jumped before turning around to find Oliver Wood, looking quite chuffed.

“Morning. Uh, have a good summer?” Ron asked.

“I did, actually. But things should be just as good now that we’re back at Hogwarts.”

After exchanging pleasantries with the others, it was clear Oliver wasn’t just passing through, which was rather unusual. In the past, Oliver Wood only approached their seats to talk to Harry about Quidditch schedules. He’d never come looking for Ron. Not once. Could this be because of what happened before summer? Ron’s name had certainly been moving around after the fight with that American. However, Oliver was the type to pay more attention to Puddlemere’s weekend result than to an enemy’s attack at Hogwarts.

From his chair, Harry gave Ron a shrug.

“So, anything to look forward to in Quidditch this year?”

“Only that we’ll be taking the cup,” Oliver replied, giving Harry a hearty pat on the back. It was as if he were sharing some sort of revelation, and not repeating his usual yearly declaration. “Speaking of which, I spoke to your brothers. Is it true? Can you truly play a decent Keeper?”

Oh, you got to be fucking kidding me.

Hermione looked up, and Ginny watched with wide eyes. Ron noticed Fred and George a few seats away, smirking and giving him a thumbs up.

“Those prats are hamming up a silly family match. You should know better than to trust any of their rubbish.”

Even if the Gryffindor team didn’t already have a great Keeper, Ron wouldn’t be interested in joining them. It wasn’t only unfair considering he was mentally an adult. He also had a ton of other nonsense to deal with. As much as it pained him to admit, Quidditch would only take away precious time.

Merlin’s old bollocks! I’m beginning to sound like Hermione.

“Still, if you’re as good as they say, I’m keen to see it for myself.”

“There’s no way I could beat you. ‘Sides, Ginny is way better. It’s her you should be trying to recruit.”

“I’ve heard about her too,” he said, glancing at her. “I doubt we could get another exception for a first year, especially since we’re in no shortage of good Chasers. I’ll definitely reach out next year though.” Ginny gasped, but Oliver’s focus was already back on Ron. “Besides, who said anything about you beating me?”

“So you’re offering me not to play.”

Oliver laughed. “Oh, if you can beat me, by all means I’ll step aside. But I don’t believe you will.”

“Then why…?”

“We haven’t had a decent substitute in a while,” he explained. “I’m not one to get injured, but you never know. You could end up getting some minutes. What do you say? Want to show me what you’ve got at our first practice? I warn you, I’m not easy to impress.”

Ron spun around to meet expectant gazes, particularly from Harry. As much as he tried, he couldn’t think of a single credible reason why second-year Ron wouldn’t be jumping with joy at this very moment. Not even a lousy one. If he turned down Wood now, Harry and Ginny would think him completely mental.

“Brilliant. See you then.”

McGonagall appeared shortly after, and Ron half-expected her to add her voice to Oliver’s Quidditch enthusiasm. She did no such thing. Instead, the elderly witch handed out timetables to the students, and even though her curious gaze lingered on Ron for a moment too long, she made no mention of Quidditch or crashing cars.

When they were done, Ron bid farewell to Ginny at the Great Hall’s doors. He wished he could keep an eye on her at all times, and watched her leave with an uneasy feeling in his gut, already counting the many dangers he’d have to protect her from this year.

Second year promised to be challenging, possibly even more so than the first time he’d lived through it. However, small mercies existed, and Ron soon realised that the year had started on a better note than he remembered.

At least there was no bloody Howler.

Greenhouse number three wasn’t much different from greenhouse number one. Sure, the plants were slightly less harmless, and not as dull; but after the crazy shit Ron had seen as an Auror, they still looked pretty tame in comparison.

The place was always humid, the glass panes keeping the air several degrees warmer than outside. Green vines and exotic flowers decorated the walls, and the musky scent of soil and fertilizer filled Ron’s nostrils. It was exactly as he remembered, right down to the twenty pairs of earmuffs lined up on the bench.

Bugger. Almost forgot about this rubbish.

Professor Sprout’s explanation cut to the bone. She’d barely told them to put on their earmuffs before pulling a Mandrake out of its pot. Silent gasps filled the room as the grisly baby plant was extracted and repotted.

“Awww, aren’t you jolly about that little angel?” Seamus asked once the professor gave them a thumbs up to remove their earmuffs. 

Lavender grimaced. “Absolutely disgusted, more like it.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. Babies have feelings, even gnarly little buggers like those.”

Professor Sprout didn’t acknowledge the quips. “These Mandrakes are seedlings, their cries won’t kill just yet,” she said. “They’ll knock you out cold, though, so keep your earmuffs on if you don’t want to lose your first day of class. Now, up to work. Pots and compost are at the front. Four to a tray, chop chop.”

Ron followed his friends and loaded his tray. He’d planned to go through the motions of the Mandrake lesson, but then he spotted an open seat next to Megan Jones, and he remembered a crucial piece of information.

He sat down, surprising both the Hufflepuffs and Harry. “Hi, I’m—”

“Ron Weasley. We know,” Megan said, exchanging a look with Susan Bones, then introducing themselves.

He settled in next to the Hufflepuffs, hoping to find a lead on the diary. Harry and Hermione, a bit further away, looked baffled. Neville and Justin Finch-Fletchley had filled up their table.

Ron shrugged at them. He could claim he got confused later.

“Did you really crash a car into a Muggle market?”

The boy sitting on the other side was Roger Malone—a Hufflepuff who’d died during the Battle of Hogwarts. It sent a pang of guilt to Ron that this was already the longest interaction he’d ever had with him.

“We never reached the Muggle town. And it wasn’t like we crashed on purpose.” 

That didn’t seem to deter Roger, who still looked fascinated by the story. Megan and Susan didn’t comment, but leaned in closer. This was Ron’s chance.

“So, Megan,” Ron began, “Your cousin bumped into the Malfoys at Diagon Alley.”

The statement—because it wasn’t a question—went straight to the point. Too much so, because as far as small talk went, it stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Who told you that?” Megan asked, her eyes narrowed.

“I might’ve heard it from Sally-Anne Perks.”

“Oh, yes, I see. Well, she did spot them while shopping. She told me about it over the summer, and— Wait, you know my cousin?”

“I—”

At that moment, Professor Sprout signalled for them to proceed. Megan made a gesture and slipped on her earmuffs.

Brilliant . He had to try and talk to her in the one class where they couldn’t hear a bloody thing.

For the next two hours, Ron followed along with the lesson, eager to finish so he could talk to Megan. He planted his Mandrake in record time, but to his rotten luck, no one could remove their earmuffs until every last Mandrake was repotted. 

Harry and Hermione gave him odd looks during class. They were covered in dirt and scratches, though not as much as Neville, whose Mandrake stubbornly resisted being potted. At the table in front of them, Ernie Macmillan pulled off a Mandrake that had clamped onto Seamus’ ear.

A standard Herbology class.

“So, your cousin, is she also in Hufflepuff?” Ron asked as soon as the class ended.

Megan was startled. “What?”

“Your cousin. You mentioned—”

“Oh, yes,” she said, packing up her things. “Where do you know her from? We’re meeting at the Quidditch pitch tomorrow, I can tell her you asked about her.”

“I don’t really know her, just thought I’ve seen you talking to her,” he said. “She has black hair, right? And, she’s a… fifth year?”

Honestly, Ron was going out on a limb here.

Megan gave him a strange look. “Brown hair. Sixth year.”

“Yes. Right. That’s her.”

Roger Malone chuckled. “Do you fancy Megan, or her cousin? Because man, this is painful to watch.”

Both Hufflepuff girls eyes’ widened, and Ron’s face turned crimson. A gasp at their backs told him that Harry and Hermione were in earshot, because of course they were.

“What?! No! No, no, no,” he stammered. “I don’t. Sorry.”

The Hufflepuffs left without another word. Ron joined his friends for a mostly silent walk back to the castle. He made a half-arsed excuse about accidentally sitting at the wrong table, but Harry only half-bought it, and Hermione didn’t even acknowledge it.

And I didn’t even get the girl’s name…

After washing out all the dirt and compost, they headed for Transfiguration.

McGonagall’s first class turned out to be quite similar to the previous year. Ron was way ahead, and managed to turn his beetle into a button before anyone else—thankfully without having to deal with a wand taped together. He didn’t feel as bad about it. McGonagall expected him to do well, and there was no fooling her steely gaze, ready to snap at the slightest inconsistency.

“Praiseworthy. Well done,” McGonagall said after inspecting his button, a smile creeping onto her lips.

It was stupid to feel chuffed—Ron had gone through that simple spell over ten years ago. Even so, he rarely got McGonagall’s attention back in his time, and it was hard not to feel some level of accomplishment at her words.

Hermione had accepted Ron outperforming in some classes last term, but this time she huffed and doubled down on her efforts. She definitely didn’t ask Ron for pointers, as Harry did.

While the rest of the class practiced, Ron skimmed his book. The theory was dull, too simple to hold his attention. Before long, his thoughts drifted to the diary.

The longer it took to find, the greater the chance of the basilisk being freed. But what could he do? Stand guard outside of Myrtle’s bathroom? He couldn’t stay there day and night. Could he go straight to the chamber and deal with the basilisk instead? As blood-chilling as it was, the idea had crossed his mind. But even if he could get inside the chamber, he wouldn’t be able to call for the basilisk, much less control the damn monster.

No. That wasn’t it. He needed a solid plan for that. He needed time. He needed the diary first.

Ron glanced at the other students, hard at work with their beetles. None seemed to be influenced by Tom Riddle’s soul, but then again, Ron hadn’t realised when Ginny had gone through that shit either.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, his gaze settled on Hermione. Her brow was knitted, as it often was when she was engrossed in her work. She let out little puffs of breath, unaware of the world around her. Ron knew her rhythm by heart, to the point he couldn’t help but smile. 

The diary would target Muggleborns, he knew. It would target her . Ron couldn’t let that happen. It didn’t matter if the Malfoys had the diary, or if Megan’s cousin was the key to it. He couldn’t fail again. Not on this.

He’d promised to change things this time. And it was about fucking time he proved his worth. 

“It’s a cat, Ron. Don’t they all chase mice? I don’t see what you’re getting at,” Harry said as they crossed the courtyard.

“But that orange ball of fur—”

“Crookshanks,” Hermione interjected.

“Right, Crookshanks. He seems obsessed with Scabbers. Telling you, something is seriously off with that rat.”

Harry stopped in his tracks. “The rat?”

“Well, the cat is a half-kneazle, so he must be onto something,” Ron argued. “And I told you Scabbers has lived for twelve years. That’s odd, isn’t it?”

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione. “You’re siding with the cat? Honestly, that rat needs a new owner.”

Ron shrugged. “I just feel there’s something off, that’s all.”

One way or another, Wormtail would be unmasked soon, and it didn’t hurt to start laying some groundwork. This way, if Ron decided to try an animagus reversal spell, his friends wouldn’t find it too suspicious. Maybe it wouldn’t even come to that. If Dumbledore knew the truth by then, the old wizard may handle the details.

Ron’s musings were interrupted by a flash of light. Colin Creevey appeared behind his camera, eager to know all about Harry and the car crash—now rumored to have destroyed a Muggle park.

As usual, Harry looked uneasy, but Ron couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed. Just seeing Colin all excited and unaware of his fate gave Ron his second pang of guilt of the day.

It won’t happen. Time has already changed. And I’ll make sure it goes the right way. Roger, Colin, Fred… None of those losses will happen.

“Got yourself a photographer now, Potter? Are you signing pictures too?”

Draco Malfoy walked across the courtyard to reach them, with his cronies two steps behind.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry shot back.

“What are you signing pictures for anyway? Hasn’t Weasel been doing everything for you lately?”

Harry frowned, but it was Colin who stepped up. “Leave him alone! Harry has done plenty! Haven’t you read the book? He defeated You-Know-Who.”

“Haven’t I— ? Don’t tell me, you’re some Muggle baker’s son who suddenly thinks he’s one of us?” Malfoy sneered.

Ron’s fist clenched. He stepped forward to stand in front of Colin. “Why do you care? You have your own father to please. Better hurry, he might be waiting for you down in the dungeons.”

Crabbe and Goyle burst into laughter, while Malfoy’s face turned a deep shade of red. Last year, the twins had pulled a prank on Malfoy, making him believe he was Snape’s long-lost son. A scene the git was yet to live down.

“Shut it, Weasel,” he snapped, “How dare you talk like that to your betters? Your family was already a pitiful bunch before you started mixing with the wrong crowd . It’s starting to rub off on you.”

Malfoy nudged in Hermione’s direction and Ron frowned. If he gripped his wand any tighter it might snap, and then he’d need spellotape for sure. Just say it. Give me a fucking reason. Put a single toe out of line, and I swear…

A part of Ron told him that Malfoy was still a kid, and that there wasn’t much to gain in making him eat slugs to the end of his days. But the git had earned it. Especially since his little prank with the Forgetfulness Potion last year had put Hermione in danger.

“Watch your mouth, ferret. I’m warning you,” Ron said, his voice low.

Before Malfoy could make another mistake, Percy showed up. “What’s going on here? Don’t you have classes?”

Malfoy huffed. “Anyway, my father —” he started, but Crabbe and Goyle’s chuckles cut him off. He glared at them, then turned to Ron. “My father has told me that soon, their kind will get what they deserve. And I know he’s right.”

Percy sent the Slytherins on their way, and ushered Ron and his friends to their own class. Ron was disappointed about letting Draco go unscathed, but the prick’s words had left him with something more to think about.

Does he know? Did his father tell him?

Ron needed to give him a check. Make sure Malfoy didn’t have the diary hidden somewhere.

“Hey, Perce, hold on!” Ron called out before they split.

Percy turned. “Yes, Ronald?”

“Just wanted to check. We’re good, right? About the summer. I can’t even remember what we were so cross about.”

That was a fib, of course. But Percy wouldn’t respond well to being told he was wrong again.

Percy sighed. “Yes, we’re fine. Just stay out of trouble and focus on your studies. I’m watching you.”

After a begrudging nod, Ron took off after his friends, remembering his next lesson was the one he was most curious about.

The Defence classroom was packed when Ron walked in. The Gryffindors were already seated, looking expectantly towards the front. Professor Locklear was absent, but a hard-looking hawk perched on the desk held their attention.

“Is there something off with that bird?” Ron asked, taking a seat.

Dean shrugged. “Seamus said it might be a test. That she’s an Animagus, like McGonagall.”

The hawk, seemingly unperturbed, turned its head occasionally. Students narrowed their eyes, searching for anything amiss. They were so focused that Professor Locklear’s voice behind them made them all jump.

“My apologies for the delay,” she said, walking briskly to the front. “I had some questions for your headmaster, and— Is there something wrong?”

She was younger than Ron expected, late thirties perhaps. Her brown clothing looked warm and unconventional, with discreet lilac patterns along the hems.

“It’s nothing, Professor. We were told you might be an Animagus,” Sally-Anne said, glaring at Seamus.

Locklear followed her gaze to the hawk, and understanding dawned. “Oh, this is Ganolegi. She delivers my mail.”

“Just a bird, then? We couldn’t have known,” Seamus said.

Parvati rolled her eyes.

“There’s a spell to reveal such things. Though I don’t expect you to know it yet,” the professor said.

Ron’s eyes widened, an opportunity presenting itself. “There is? Can we learn it?” he blurted.

The woman looked curiously at Ron. “It’s not in my plan. But it’s not difficult, and your library should have information on it.”

The plan to free Sirius was finally taking shape inside Ron’s mind. “And, ehm, is it dangerous to practice on animals?”

“Perfectly safe.”

Locklear cast the Animagus reveal spell on her hawk. As expected, nothing happened. The bird chirped casually.

“She’s pretty. Does she really deliver your mail?” Alice asked. “Don’t you use owls in America?”

“Some do. I have Ganolegi.” She smiled at the curious attention her hawk was getting, then she cleared her throat. “I believe I’ve delayed introductions long enough. As you know, I’m Professor Sequoia Locklear, your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year.”

Ron tried to focus on the conversation. This woman was a mystery, and he was supposed to be gathering information. However, he couldn’t help but feel a daft joy. He could now ‘practice’ the Animagus reveal spell on Scabbers without raising Harry or Hermione’s suspicions.

“You don’t look like other Americans I’ve met,” Lavender interrupted Ron’s train of thought.

“We come in all shapes and colors,” the professor said, clasping her hands together. “I, like many others, have native heritage—Cherokee, in my case. We live in houses and cities, but also value our roots. Our ancestors’ beliefs, and their teachings on nature and virtue, are a big part of who I am, and why I’m here.”

Ron remained uncertain, but the others, even Hermione, were captivated. Professor Locklear answered questions about her life back in America, several were asked by Hermione.

“It’s been a good introduction, but we have work to do,” the professor said after a while. “I know you’re a bit behind in your curriculum, but I don’t believe in dwelling on that. You know what you know, and I’m here to help you move forward.”

Pushing his plans to free Sirius for later, Ron leaned forward with interest.

They opened their books, but Locklear quickly stopped them. “We won’t be following the program in order, so close those for now,” she said, gesturing for them to stand. With a flick of her wand, the desks and chairs were pushed against the wall, and she walked to the centre of the room. “Before any strike, before any offense, there must be a shield . Many wizards, in their eagerness for power, forget this simple truth. And Defence is ingrained in our very subject’s name.”

“Blimey!” Dean exclaimed, and Lavender gasped. Professor Locklear had conjured a ring of dummies around them and cast unfamiliar spells upon them.

Locklear looked chuffed at the reaction. “This drill was inspired by pitching machines and paintball. Ever heard of those?”

Very few nodded. Ron’s eyebrows rose. Could it be a trap? What were the dummies hexed with?

As Professor Locklear explained, the dummies would be shooting paint-filled projectiles at them—not exactly reassuring. The paint, she told them, was bewitched to be repelled by simple shields.

“You do know the incantation, don’t you?” the professor asked.

“Protego?” Parvati asked, her voice laced with doubt.

Locklear, seeing the uncertain looks, gave a quick refresher on the spell. A few minutes later, she stepped back, leaving the students surrounded by the paint-shooting dummies.

There was an amused glint in her smile.

Is she an enemy? Or just mad?

“Wait! What do we do now?” Seamus asked.

“Dodge if you can. Use your wand, if not,” Locklear said.

And then, chaos erupted.

Balls of multicolored paint flew from every direction. The first hit Seamus’s shoulder, knocking him off balance. When he stood, Ron sighed. At least it was just paint.

“Is this leaving a stain?” Lavender cried, a blue spot on her arm.

Alice Tolipan shrieked nearby, and Parvati stopped two hits before a third got her. Even when Ron was doing fine, he saw Harry struggling, and Hermione was even worse. He managed to block a shot coming directly at her.

“Backs to me,” Ron shouted at Harry and Hermione.

Within seconds, they formed a tight circle, backs together, covering all angles. Ron intercepted projectiles when needed, but Harry and Hermione held their own.

By the end of the drill, most of the students looked like abstract art, especially Neville, whose eyes barely peeked through the paint. Ganolegi, the hawk, had watched from the corner the whole practice unbothered, and didn’t seem to find anything odd with the paint-soaked students.

Ron and his friends were by far the cleanest. Harry had a green spot on his leg, Hermione a yellow smudge in her frizzy hair. Ron was spotless.

Professor Locklear looked pleased. “Fine work, all of you. Even the paint-splattered. Every hit was a lesson, valuable for the future,” she said. “That includes you… ehm…?”

“Neville,” he mumbled.

“Yes, excellent, Neville. I saw you block a high shot.”

“Just one,” Neville lamented. “Got hit by everything else.”

“That one could’ve been the lethal one in a fight. Well done,” she said, nodding to a blushing Neville. Then, she turned to Ron. “Not a single hit. Ronald Weasley. The stories I’ve heard about you seem to be true. Your reflexes are impressive, but your strategy to protect your friends is even more so for someone your age.”

Ron nodded as everyone turned to him. He had to admit, the drill had turned out to be actually good and enjoyable. And as with Plank, he didn’t know what to make of the new professor.

With a swift wand movement, Locklear scoured the classroom clean. Then, did the same with their robes. “Remember, defense is not about physical reflexes. It’s also about choosing when to fight, and when to walk away.” Her gaze softened slightly. “Choices we make ripple through time and affect not only ourselves, but also those around us. This is why defense is so important. It’s not just about protecting yourself, but about protecting the web of life… It’s our choices that define us, more than any magic.”

A wide smile later, the class was dismissed. Ron walked out uneasily, wondering if the woman knew more than she let on.