Everytime

Chapter 1 – The Future Freaks Me Out

I was on fire.

That was the first thing that I felt after I died. The green light never completely faded from my view, but there was something behind it that burned deep within me, burned so much that I couldn't even cry out in pain.

And then slowly, ever so slowly, the pain faded. Somehow, incredibly, it was all going away. The Cruciatus Curse, which the bastard had put on me so many times that I lost count, which every wizard knows requires weeks of recuperation to get over—in a flash of white, everything was gone. And yet I didn't feel better.

The instant the light washed over me, everything was gone. And I mean everything. Little feelings that I had never really noticed before, like the feeling of my legs below me or even my magic stretched within me—all gone. And so the absence of pain, which should have been comforting, instead felt even stranger.

The white glow faded from view, and that was when I knew for sure that I was dead. Everything faded to blackness—my vision failed, and I could no longer feel my hands or legs, much less move them. I suppose that my spirit was flying up towards heaven...at least hopefully towards heaven.

And then suddenly the world around me blinked once and disappeared.

I blinked my eyes in confusion. And then it hit me—my eyes! I could see again! But I appeared to be floating in midair, and I still couldn't speak, as I found out when I tried to call to someone.

Don't call. It will have no effect.

The voice came from nowhere and yet everywhere, resounding throughout my head and reverberating endless times unnecessarily. I would've paid attention no matter what the voice said or how it said it, as long as it was the first understandable thing that had occurred since the monster Avada Kedavra'd me.

I tried again to open my mouth, to say something, but nothing came out. The voice came again, this time soothing.

Don't try to talk. Just think questions at me and I shall answer them.

What the hell? I thought, but did it anyway. Who are you? Where am I? were the first brilliant things that rushed out of my cluttered mind.

That is not important.

Well then, what is important? I asked angrily, struggling to keep a hold on my emotions.

This, said the voice simply. The backdrop of clouds and sky shimmered, but nothing appeared to happen. That is, until I looked down.

It was Hogwarts. Or at least, what was left of Hogwarts, ever since Lord Voldemort—ugh, that name still makes me shudder—had razed most of it to the ground one damp fall night during my seventh year, when Harry, Hermione and I were still trying to find the Horcruxes. Before the final battle.

Before the end.

But that wasn't it. Because when I looked down, I saw the remaining members of my family standing in the graveyard that I knew was located in the school but that I had never visited, nor wanted to. Ginny, her face streaked with tears and her hair unkempt, leaned the front of her head against a headstone and wept freely. Dad, who Merlin knows had already gone through enough during the war, stared up at the sky, almost facing me, as if to say why me? Even Fred and George's normally smiling faces, who could be counted on to liven up the scene during the Apocalypse itself, were instead as serious as I had ever seen them, although they were not crying.

The voice chimed in unnecessarily. Ronald, this is your funeral.

And that was when it really hit me. I was dead. I was fucking dead. And there was nothing I could do about it.

A memory floated up unbidden and terrifying from the depths of my now-ethereal mind. "Hermione! No, you bastard, you killed Hermione! You took my best friend, you took the girl that I've been nursing a crush on for years, you've taken Mum, and Charlie, and Bill, and—"

At least I would see her again.

I continued to watch despondently at the scene unfolding before me, a scene that no wizard in the world should have to witness. There was Remus Lupin, who had now lost not only all his best friends but also the man he loved almost as much as a son and any hope of having a happy life with the death of Tonks. Next to him, the wind whipping at her robes, was Professor McGonagall—and she was actually crying. She was crying...for me.

The Headmistress of Hogwarts, the sternest teacher that I have ever known in my entire life, the woman who even managed to keep a straight face throughout the funerals of every single hope that the light side had, was bloody crying at my funeral.

That felt like the straw that broke the monkey's back, or whatever that Muggle saying was. Either way, I felt extremely sad—like I couldn't take it anymore.

What do you want with me? I managed to ask of the voice. Why are you making me watch this? What's the point? I've had enough, okay? I've had enough death. I just want to rest. I gave my life for this damned war, and I've earned a rest...to be with Hermione. And Harry, and Bill and Charlie, and Mum.

Silence, said the voice, although not angrily, and I found myself listening to it even though seconds ago I felt like my entire world was crashing down around me. Just watch. There may be something of use to you here.

Of use? I asked it, but there was no answer. I know I would've sighed if I could, or rolled my eyes or some teenage crap like that, but I wasn't a teenager anymore, and I didn't have a body anyway. No one who lived through the Second War against Voldemort was a teenager, no matter if they were fifteen when it began like we were. Me, Hermione, and Harry. The Golden Trio.

All dead. Gone forever, and with it any hopes of winning the war. Now Voldemort had almost completely overtaken the wizarding government in Britain, and was expanding to other parts of the world. Muggles thought that the very Apocalypse was happening, what they believed would come with dark angels and fires and rains of brimstone. Thousands of Muggles disappeared every week as a result of Death Eater attacks, and the Muggles had no other idea of what was happening.

And those who knew knew that they weren't far off.

There was Regulus Black, looking the very opposite of his brother with his dark expression and darker robes. Yet his work in finding the Horcruxes had been invaluable in the war, and I silently thanked him, although I knew he couldn't hear me.

And I stared on as none other than Aberforth Dumbledore, who had been the spy at the Hog's Head Pub for decades, rose and walked to a podium behind my headstone, removing a small booklet and reading glasses from a robe pocket.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley," said Aberforth in a solemn tone. Ginny's cries grew louder, echoing throughout the cemetery and scaring several crows sitting on a series of tombstones a few rows over.

"To those who knew him, he was an incredibly brave man, one of the bravest of the Second War. To his family, he was their brother, the one who always cared for them when they were in trouble, the one that wiped away his sister's tears when she was angry, the one who could always be counted on for a laugh, at least if his twin brothers weren't around."

I almost laughed at the thought of Fred and George's indignant faces as I pictured them after hearing that comment. Yet when I turned to face them, I saw only frozen expressions on their faces and a consuming darkness in their eyes. They had seen too much and lost too much in this war.

"To his best friends Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, may they rest in peace, he was simply a best friend. Whenever they were dragged away on some adventure, he would always be right there beside them, fighting for what he believed in. Whenever the atmosphere got too solemn during the Horcrux search, he would be there with jokes and Fred and George's Wheezes to lighten the mood."

There was an enormous snort from behind me, and I turned around and almost lost it again—George was actually crying. I don't think he's cried since he was one.

"Harry Potter had planned for him to be the best man at his wedding with his sister, Ginevra Weasley," he said, as Ginny's cries punctuated the air for a moment during the nostalgic silence that followed. "Harry always thought that he and Hermione Granger, their other best friend, would end up getting married themselves once the war was over."

I blushed, at least I would have if I had a body, before realizing just how solemn this funeral was. Didn't his family know that this wasn't what he had wanted? Didn't they know that he wanted them to go on without him, as they had done, albeit painfully, with the other lost members?

And then it hit me. This was what they had been going through at every single funeral that they attended—they just kept it inside, hid it from me. I really hadn't been spending enough time with my family ever since Dumbledore's funeral, and maybe if I had I would actually know what was going through their heads.

I was shocked out of my thoughts when suddenly Aberforth stepped off the podium—the eulogy must have finished. George wiped his eyes on his sleeve and was the first to rise, followed shortly by Fred. Together, arms around each other, they turned and began to walk towards the castle.

Suddenly everything faded to black. Now listen to me, Ronald Bilius Weasley, the voice spoke, and I did.

You are receiving a second chance at life, a second chance to prevent yourself from dying. You can choose to return to any one point in your life and fix whatever events led to your death. One warning, however—you can't simply prevent yourself from going on the Horcrux quest, or from being with Harry during the final battle. Your choices and decisions were every much a part of you as the Killing Curse that ended your life, and can no more be changed than Voldemort himself.

You now have eighteen hours to prepare yourself. Take your time, and formulate a plan before you choose the time to return. I will be waiting; simply call me when you are ready.

And in a flash, the voice left—I could feel that it was gone as much as I had seen the funeral earlier. All the questions in my mind flowed throughout my head, but after a while they all kept still.

And I began to think.

- - - -

A/N- Yeah, I'm starting a new story. Sorry to any fans of Unto Dust Shalt Thou Return, but this just came to me and the idea began to grow. Anyway, thanks for reading, and please review!