A/N: This one-shot takes place during the summer after OotP. It completely disregards HBP because I said so. Cheers, LIZ
Insight
It was happening again.
Groaning in annoyance, he slid slowly down the wall, arms wrapped around his waist. Colors swam in front of his eyes and he swallowed shakily, forcing his eyelids to close and hoping, praying, that he could wait it out one more time.
Just one more time, he told himself, just as he'd done for weeks.
Six weeks. It had been six weeks since the Department of Mysteries and every night, he dreamed of the brains flying toward him –
But the dreams were nothing – nothing – compared to the episodes.
A whimper escaped his lips as images flashed before his eyes. The ground shook beneath him and bright light burst against his eyelids –
"Mum, come quick!" he heard Ginny shout, and as the floor tipped sideways, he felt his sister's hand rest on his shoulder. "Hold on, Ron," she murmured softly, and he forced back a pained whimper as a stray spark in his mind shot to the back of his neck.
"Blimey," a voice sounded off to the distance, and Ron cringed as another stray spark forced its way out through his right hand.
Then it stopped.
"Is it over?" Fred's voice asked, and, Ron reflected distantly, he sounded much closer this time.
"I think so," Ginny muttered, letting go of Ron's shoulder to grasp his left hand. "Ron? Can you see yet?"
"No," Ron breathed, shifting restlessly, and, pulling free from Ginny's grip, he pushed himself to his feet. But too soon – the floor tipped under his feet again and he felt himself slipping –
"Whoa!" Fred exclaimed, and Ron felt arms wrapping around him, leading him over to the couch where he was gently laid down. "Easy there," Fred said softly, and the couch dipped as Fred and Ginny sat beside him. "Just rest until you're able."
"Able to what?" Ron groaned, and Fred smiled softly – had he been in a more charitable mood, he would have been thrilled to see the blur shaped like his brother.
"Figure out what happened this time," Fred replied. "Any ideas yet?"
"My brain's rearranging itself," Ron replied shakily, and his mother gasped in the background as Ginny squeezed his hand.
"Oh, Ronald," his mother breathed, her voice quivering as her fear for her little boy increased tenfold.
Ron chuckled tiredly. "What else could it be?" he asked. "I'm not myself anymore – which is likely a good thing, to be honest…"
"Ron, that's not–" Ginny began, only to be cut off.
"Why the bloody hell not?" Ron demanded, and he pushed himself up with shaky arms only to be pushed back down by his brother. "What was I ever good for before, aside from getting jealous over stupid things and hurting my best friends? What did I ever–"
"You kept us sane," a voice said quietly from the doorway, and Ron swallowed nervously.
"Didn't hear you come in, mate," he muttered.
"Dumbledore brought me," Harry replied. "It's that time of year – I've been paroled."
Ginny and Fred audibly winced at the bitterness in Harry's voice.
"So," Harry continued, and Ron listened carefully as footsteps moved across the room, watched as the dark-haired blur settled beside him. "What's going on, Ron?"
"Remember those brains in the Department of Mysteries?" His vision steadily clearing now, Ron watched as his friend scowled darkly. "Right. Well, since about a week after they attacked me, I've been having strange dizzy spells and getting all sorts of odd visions of things–"
"They turned you clairvoyant?" another voice spoke up in amazement, and Ron whipped his head around to see Hermione standing in the doorway, wringing her hands.
"I'm not sure," he replied, shrugging absently. "But I have all kinds of memories that aren't mine, and I've had strange dreams – don't go to Hogsmeade before Christmas, mate," he advised Harry. "Owl-order. Anyway, I can't tell as it. And I know spells–" he swallowed again, "know spells I shouldn't."
"Which makes sense," Hermione frowned absently, "if those brains had come from a Death Eater killed during the first war."
"That's what I thought," Ron agreed, his face slowly turning a sickly green. "But I don't much relish the thought…"
"We'll take you to Dumbledore, mate, and see what he knows about this," Harry said quietly.
Slowly pushing himself up, Ron bit back a smile when his friends quickly flanked him, grabbing his arms and helping him to the fireplace.
He should have told them, he realized, much, much sooner.
"What do you mean, you KNEW?" Harry roared, and Hermione winced, covering her ears with her hands.
"I suspected," Dumbledore continued as Ron and Hermione exchanged a long-suffering look, "when I saw the scars on Ronald's arms, that he might have been imbued with certain powers and knowledge."
"Will it change his personality at all?" Hermione asked hurriedly, cutting Harry off at the pass as his face darkened even further, and she glanced apologetically at Ron when he paled.
"It should not," Dumbledore replied, giving her a quick, grateful glance before peering at Ron over the edge of his spectacles. "There has been one other case of an individual being imbued by the specimen in the Department of Mysteries, and if one is strong-willed enough – which Ronald certainly is – then one's own personality will remain in control."
"Sir?' Ron asked warily, "who was the one other person?"
Dumbledore gave him a once-over before glancing over at Fawkes, smiling slightly as the bird burst into flames. At the sight, Ron and Hermione gaped while Harry merely chuckled at the awe-filled looks on their faces. "That would be me," the headmaster said slowly, a very chagrined expression on his face, and Harry couldn't help himself.
Dumbledore smiled broadly as Harry's laughter filled the room.
And healing began just like that, in the ordinary – for Harry, at least – moments, just like it always did.
Review if you have something to say.
Cheers,
LIZ