All right, this idea may sound a bit weird... But in this story Ron Weasley is a time traveling Albus Dumbledore. I read about this fan theory and just had to write it. So don't give up on this story, it will get better. I have some good ideas planned for this story, so keep on reading! I'm sorry if some things are confusing, but time travel always confuses me, so I'll try to make everything as clear as I can, but it might be hard to understand in some parts.

This story can go with my other story: For the Greater Good. It's not a prequel, but they just go nicely together.

As always, please review! I'd really love to know what you think of this plot line, and if you have any suggestions or information.

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Albus had always thought that he would die of old age, surrounded by family and friends, and with calming music playing from somewhere that he couldn't quite see. Everyone would have tears in their eyes, silent tears that spoke more than words ever could. They would be sad to see him go, but happy that he had lived life to the fullest, accomplished much, and done everything he could possibly fit into one lifetime.

He wouldn't be sad, or angry, or scared. He would be calm and collected, as he always was. The twinkle in his eyes would be back in full force, at least until his spirit was gone.

Albus had never been afraid of death.

But now that it was staring him in the face, he had to admit, death was a bit terrifying. And there was no music on, no family and friends standing around him, no tears, even. Only a wavering wand, a hundred meter drop straight down, and a boy with platinum-blonde hair.

And there was no one to save him. Harry Potter was dead, Hermione Granger was dead, Sirius Black was dead, Professor McGonagall was dead, Neville Longbottom was missing, but probably dead, Luna Lovegood was dead...

Albus was the last left standing. Of course, he had expected this. He had expected that if things didn't go to plan, he would likely outlive the rest. After all, Albus was the only wizard that the dark lord had ever been afraid of. Albus was the only wizard who could put up a fight against Voldemort.

But how was he supposed to do that wandless, on the edge of a chasm, faced by three dark wizards, one of which was pointing his wand at Albus's face, preparing to perform the killing curse?

"Do it," someone hissed. Albus turned to look. It was Severus. Of course it was Severus. How could Albus have been so foolish as to think that Severus was actually on his side? There had been so many signs: the poison in the cup, the spies... But Albus had believed in him. Had believed that Severus's longing to avenge Lily's death was a good enough reason for him not to turn to the side that was obviously winning. Voldemort's side.

It had been easy enough to see that the light could never win. They had always been outnumbered, had less power and influence, and their leader had been a sixteen year old boy. Surprisingly enough, there was no pang of loss when Albus remembered Harry. Probably because he had seen so much death that he no longer felt the pain.

And now it was his turn.

Draco nodded at Severus and raised his wand higher. It trembled, but Albus had no doubt that as soon as Draco spoke the two words, Albus would be dead. Albus knew why it trembled. Because he had nearly succeeding in saving young Draco's soul, but failed. At least he had left behind a bit of morality in Draco, but obviously not enough to keep him from performing the curse.

Draco swallowed nervously.

"Do it!" Severus repeated. "Oh, never mind. Get out of my way." He pushed Draco to the side and brandished his own wand. Bellatrix, who was next to him, cackled.

Albus's fingers were shaking now. Shaking so much, in fact, that they brushed against something hard, hanging around his neck.

A thrill of hope tingled up Albus's spine. The time turner! He grasped blindly for the little pendant, hanging around his neck. His fingers brushed up against it, and he closed his fist around it.

"Severus, please," he pleaded.

But Severus's eyes were cold, colder than ice.

Albus twisted the time turner.

"Avada Kedavra."

There was nothing.

()()()

Albus swam for a moment in darkness. He couldn't feel anything, he was numb, his very thoughts were silenced. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe.

And then pain washed over him. He choked, gulping in breaths. He couldn't move, couldn't scream. Well, on second thought, he could scream.

His screams echoed all around him. Bounced off the walls and back again, ringing off of the air and the sky. The pain just went on and on, but eventually Albus was able to stop screaming.

He opened his eyes.

He was at the top of the Astronomy Tower. He had rolled around a bit on the ground, and was practically dangling off the edge. He gasped, and moved back. Luckily no one had heard him, in fact, he didn't think anyone was here.

He stood on wobbly legs, trying to ignore the fire that ate at his body. It hurt, god, it hurt. But Albus wasn't one to complain. He braced himself against the wall and peeked over the side...

No.

Hogwarts was a ruin. One wall was completely gone, the rest were rubble. The turrets and towers were crumbled and broken. The lake was dry, and the Forbidden Forest looked like it had doubled in size. Hogwarts was being choked by trees and vines. The only part left standing was the Astronomy Tower itself.

Albus was horribly confused for a few moments, until he realized that he must have turned the time turner to the right, which would take him to the future. Most time turners couldn't go even a few minutes into the future, but his was different. It was loaded with magic. He remembered the group of seven powerful wizards and witches, who had all aimed their wands at the tiny object and blasted it with spells and charms until it literally shook with power. And then Cornelius Fudge had handed it to Albus.

"In case you need it," he had said. "After all, if anyone could use it right, it would be you. Everyone knows you would have been a better Minister than I could ever hope to be, and you would have a chance at defeating Voldemort. I only ask, that when the time is right, you will give it to Harry Potter."

But the time had never been right, because Harry had been killed when he was just sixteen. Albus had been greedy, and hadn't given Harry the time turner before then. He had wanted it for himself.

But what to do with it now?

He couldn't very well stay here. How would that help matters? Everyone was dead, Voldemort probably ruled the world... no. He would have to prevent Voldemort from killing Harry in the first place. From rising again at all.

But how? How could he help Harry?

To be honest, Harry had never had all that much help. He had had Hermione, but she was only one person, and could do only so much. There was Neville, and Luna, and Ginny, and Fred and George, and many others, but they weren't all that good at magic. And they had never managed to be with Harry when he needed them. And Albus himself hadn't been there, either. That sent a pang of guilt through Albus's heart, but he ignored it.

Perhaps... Perhaps Albus could become someone, someone who could help Harry. A friend. But who? He couldn't become a new person, someone that hadn't been born yet, because he had already been born once and didn't want to do it again... and the thought was a bit disgusting anyway. Maybe someone who had died young. Then Albus could use Polyjuice, make up a story claiming that they had somehow survived, and then go and help Harry.

And he knew exactly who to be.

Ron Weasley.

Ron, the youngest son of Molly and Arthur Weasley, had been trampled by hippogriffs when he was four years old. Molly and Arthur had been devastated. Albus could only hope that they had been devastated enough to preserve one of Ron's hairs. But if they hadn't, there were other ways of changing your appearance.

He wasn't exactly sure how he would pretend to act like Ron, since he had never met the little four-year-old before he died. But he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Grinning madly, with hope flaring in his chest, Albus twisted the time turner once more.

()()()

The Burrow-from-sixteen-years-ago was small and quaint, but it had maintained that queer aura of magic, and the number of strange whirring things that stood on its shelves. There were quite a lot strange whirring things, Albus noticed, almost as many as in his old office at Hogwarts. There were gadgets that levitated forks, gizmos that could turn any sort of vegetable blue, little trinkets for setting off alarms whenever one of the Weasley's old chickens laid an egg...

However, there were no Weasleys there. Which was awfully strange, considering it was their house, and it was a weekday, and it was evening.

Albus did not feel like turning the time turner again, so he headed upstairs, intending to do some searching for himself. There was some banging from the ghoul in the attic, but a quick silencing spell shut it up. A few doors loomed up ahead, and so he turned the knob on the first.

He was met by a display of pink. Lots and lots of pink.

Must be Ginny's room.

And even if it wasn't, he didn't want to stay around. He didn't like pink all that much, although his robes did have little pink pineapples on them, he noted with interest.

The next was clearly Fred and George's, because he was met with an onslaught of fireworks and a bucket of water, and something kept on repeating, "Sticky spray! Sticky spray!" over and over. He shut the door, with difficulty.

He sighed when he realized there were at least four more doors. The Weasleys did have a lot of children. He remembered watching them all die, one by one, and vowed silently to himself that he would not let that happen again.

The next room had dust on the handle. There were no gaudy decorations on the door, no paper signs reading, "Keep out!" or, "No boys allowed!" There was just a whole lot of wood door.

Albus straightened his beard unconsciously, smoothed out any wrinkles in his robes, and opened the door.

There was a little bed, untouched and dusty, with pristine blankets and pillow. A small stuffed elephant lay on the side of the bed, with floppy ears and a fat trunk. There was a little dresser with a few toys on top, a lamp with trains on it, and a child's Quidditch broomstick.

Albus examined the pillow, and was relieved to find a few small fiery red hairs on it. He pocketed them, and apparated with a resounding, "Crack!"

And then everything was still.

()()()

The cauldron gurgled and bubbled hungrily. The frothing potion swallowed the red hairs into itself, and Albus grinned. The potion was done.

For a month he had been living at Hogwarts, specifically in the dungeons. He was pleased to find that Severus's quarters were quite comfortable, and he had all of the ingredients that Albus needed for the Polyjuice potion.

He had used the time turner to stop time so that he could work in peace, without anyone finding him. It took a great deal of magic to stop time, and he could feel that the spell was wavering. He didn't have that much time.

He grabbed a flask and dunked it into the cauldron. Olive green liquid with suspicious chunks in it spilled into the flask. Albus barely hesitated before gulping it all down.

For a few seconds he was afraid that it hadn't worked, but then the table started getting taller. He grinned. That meant he was shrinking.

Soon he was about three feet tall, and about to drown in his robes, the ones with the pink pineapples. He felt horribly exposed without his beard, but he liked his hair. It was nice and soft, and best of all, it was a flaming red. It looked like his head was on fire, he discovered when he glanced in a mirror. He rather liked that. He looked like a human torch. His features were childish and round, and he had chubby cheeks. He looked, all in all, adorable.

He put on the small child's robes he had brought and apparated to the Burrow.

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Thanks for reading, please review! It only takes a second, but it is so helpful!