When I wrote "The Tarnished Knight and the Fairy Princess", I wrote it purely for my own amusement, and the idea that Ron and Luna, being rather lonely people in their childhood, would perhaps have been good friends.
When I finished the story, I received a message stating that the sender wanted to see more of their time together, and from that message, coupled with my own love of time-travel stories, created this story.
I've been fascinated with time-travel since my childhood, when the concept of the Time-Turner gave me the desire to see the glory of time and all its many alternate streams and alternate destinies written down. I've read many time-travel stories since then, as well as seen many films on the subject. It's really very interesting to me.
However, I've very rarely seen either Ron or Luna actually be the ones who go back in time themselves, as it's usually Harry or Hermione who are written as time-travelers. Given how they actually were time-travelers on The Prisoner of Azkaban, I can't complain by any means, but it left me frustrated that no one seems to write a story, finished or not, when Ron or Luna go back that lasts more than a chapter or two.
So, in honor of those time-travel stories that so handily captured my interest, I've decided to try writing a time-travel AU where Ron and Luna go back in time from the events of The Deathly Hallows to another time period, likely their childhood. I'm not quite sure which time to "drop them off in", to be honest. So, I'll see how you lot respond to this prologue first, and if it's good enough for you, I'll hold a poll, tally up the votes and write up the next official chapter soon.
Enjoy, and feel free to criticize and comment, but please, for the love of Dobby, NO FLAMING. Flaming will only be used to fuel the Fiendfyre that burned up the "remnant room" of the Room of Requirement.
Ron Weasley was mad.
No, he wasn't mad, he was livid. When he had agreed to come along on this insane hunt for Horcruxes, he'd never thought it would get this bad. No proper food, no decent sleeping hours, hours to put up all the damn secrecy spells and security charms, no time to rest because all the bloody stupid Death Eaters wouldn't stop looking for them. Damn You-Know-Who, damn the stupid Death Eaters, damn everyone, everything, all of it that went and decided to dump this much crap on the wizarding world.
And the Horcruxes, oh damn the stupid things to oblivion. He'd never thought he'd come to detest a word that much, but he was wrong. So very, very wrong. The stupid things took up all of their time, and they'd only found one. One. stupid. Horcrux. The damn thing was gaudy, uglier than any lumpy old maroon sweater his Mum had ever knitted for him, all gold, and covered in oversized emeralds, and far too clunky. The "S" on the front was mocking him, he just knew it. Of all the stupid bloody bits of You-Know-Who's soul to find, it just had to be the one with that represented Slytherin, in all its mocking, flaunting, bigoted glory. He hated it, he hated it more than he'd ever hated anything, even all the taunts he'd ever had to endure in his entire life.
It had hated him too, he knew that much. The moment he put on the icy locket, the metal seemed to burn and smart his skin, and if he wore it at night, sometimes he'd hear things, horrible voices that said equally horrible things, mocking taunts about his family, the state of his clothes, his money issues, his problem with being the youngest Weasley brother, how he'd always been, and always would be, in the shadow of Harry Potter...
He'd tried to ignore it before, but it never worked. The horrible, oily voices would slink away into his dreams too, invading his mind at night to fill his imagination with twisted parodies of reality. Nightmares didn't even begin to cover what he'd seen. He could still see them now, floating across his mind's eye like some sort of grisly circus act: the Burrow, burning away, sparks flying up into the night sky like demonic faeries, as the creaking and moaning of the collapsing building sounded like the screams of the dying...his family, pale-faced and frightened, trying desperately to make ends meet in the worst dreams, the ones where You-Know-Who ruled over the world with an iron fist...Harry and Hermione, tortured by Death Eaters, held at wandpoint and forced to endure an endless stream of magical agonies for the sick amusement of the Inner Circle...
He couldn't take it. There was only so much he could take before he cracked. He had a limit, he wasn't superhuman.
So he'd left. He'd left, and he hadn't looked back, at least not until he was far enough away that he didn't have to see their faces; he'd caused himself enough guilt as it was, leaving and making Hermione upset. She'd begged him to come back, shouting as if he'd never return.
He'd never had anyone that desperate to keep him around before, no one except Harry and Hermione. They were always a trio, a group of three up against the whole stinking world. It had been like that from the beginning, when they'd been young and naïve and stupid and only eleven years old, still untainted enough that they could still look at the world around them with rose-tinted glasses. The mountain troll had cemented their friendship, and now a possessed ugly locket seemed to have broken that cement.
The rose-tinted glasses had fallen apart after a while, over time becoming cracked, smudged, and, with the events of this night, finally broken entirely.
I didn't mean to make her cry. I didn't mean to make him look so disappointed, so let down.
But he'd done it anyway.
He knew he couldn't come back, not yet anyway. He'd already caused enough of a rift between them, and he wasn't sure if he could mend it this time. The last time they'd been this divided, they'd been a couple of fourteen-year-old morons during the TriWizard Tournament, and he'd been a git, foolish enough to think that Harry, his best friend, his brother in all but blood, had been in it for the fame, for the fortune, for a sackful of Merlin-be-damned Galleons that weren't even worth the blood they'd been paid in.
Cedric's blood. Cedric, the first real casualty in this war. He'd been so young, not even out of Hogwarts yet. He'd been nice to Harry, polite to him even when his own fellow Hufflepuffs would probably have spit in Harry's face.
And he'd died, died in a cold, dank graveyard in Little Hanglington, hit by an Advada Kedavra that he'd never even seen coming.
"Kill the spare." It was amazing, he thought, how much three little words could make him suddenly feel like he was going to throw up.
The night was colder than before, owls hooting somewhere off in the distance. He could see his breath turn to white fog in the air, as if he was a dragon, breathing smoke.
Dragons...Charlie. Oh Merlin, his family. What would they say to him now, if they'd seen what he'd done?
He could practically hear the twins now, identical shouts of rage and mockery: "Idiot, what the ruddy hell were you thinking, leaving your best mates like that! They need you, and you go off because you think it's too damn difficult for you? What's the matter, can't get out of Mum's apron strings yet?"
Bill and Charlie, giving him ugly looks of anger and disappointment, keeping their mouths tightly shut, as if it wasn't even worth the trouble of yelling at him.
Percy, with that damn smug look in his eyes, saying, "I told you not to hang around with him, that Harry's a rotten one, and you and Hermione are better off with someone else to be friends with, someone less...mad..."
He pictured Ginny, eyes narrowed with rage and red from crying, her wand out and pointed at him, ready to unleash a Bat-Bogey Hex the likes of which not even Malfoy had ever felt. "You stupid bloody idiot! You damn daft toad! What on earth made you walk out on Harry and Hermione? Are you crazy!?"
His parents faces swam before his vision. There would be no rage after a while, the anger would fizzle out like a wet Filbuster's Firework, leaving only disappointment and sadness behind, and then he'd feel awful, like he'd punched someone's little bratty kid or something.
Ron looked up at the sky, dark enough now that he could see the stars, if there would even be any out, and wondered how the others at Hogwarts were doing. He wondered how Luna was doing, if she'd still kept up her faith in the weird even as darkness swarmed the wizarding world like a plague of locusts.
He shuddered in the icy night air, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. He'd run off without even packing a bag to take with him, so all his sweaters were still back at the campsite. Real smart move, idiot. What oh so clever ideas are you going to cook up this time, maybe lighting up your wand so that every Death Eater and Snatcher for ten miles can see you? At least then you can get your arse handed to you, like you deserve for being such an idiot.
He shoved the oppressive thoughts away. He'd survive, he had a feeling that he would. He just hoped that he'd be able to live with himself when he did.
There was a star up there, only one in the whole dark mesh of sky. Ron looked at it, focusing as hard as he could. He remembered this trick, his Mum had taught him it as a kid no taller than her knees. "Wish upon a star, and you'll get that wish to come true. But it only works if you really, honestly mean it."
What should he wish for? For Harry and Hermione to take him back, after he'd made a total arse of himself back there at camp, spouting crap like there was no tomorrow? Should he wish for his family to make it through this war in one piece, safe and whole, unlike so many others who'd already fallen? A wish, perhaps, for the students and decent staff of Hogwarts to make it through alright? A wish to fix the Ministry of Magic, so that it actually did what it was supposed to do, and actually help the public, instead of spouting lies like a broken fountain and slandering the names of others, people who actually wanted to do what was good for their fellow witches and wizards and other wizarding world inhabitants, in order to make themselves look better?
Should he make a wish for Harry, perhaps? A wish that his friend would make it through this okay, and then be able to be actually happy, without the problems of the meddling wizarding press, or the stupid Prophecy? He'd already had enough to deal with when he'd lived with the Dursleys for most of his life, he didn't want him to have to deal with more crap after the war.
No...that's not it. A wish like that isn't powerful enough. There'd always be something or someone in the way. There needs to be a better wish than that...
He looked at that star, all bright and shining and beautiful, a single, unspoilt light gleaming, brave and defiant, amongst the blackened smudge of nighttime sky, and then he knew what he had to wish for. Not just what he should, but what he had to wish for, because in this case, it was one and the same.
I hope this works.
He stared at the star, letting the light burn into his vision until all he could see was white, and whispered a few words.
There was a sudden sharp crack, and then Ronald Weasley was gone, with only his footprints on the frost-covered ground to tell that he'd even been there at all.
Luna Lovegood was happy.
No, she was not worried, nor was she pretending to be content, as she'd been doing for the past months. The Wrackspurts had been quite busy these last few weeks, flitting about the castle like little worker bees, chattering away madly. She was glad they were happy, they hadn't had much reason to be, given the events of Hogwarts this year.
The whole castle was taken under Death Eater control, and she had to say, she didn't like the new Defense against the Dark Arts classes, or as they were now known, the Dark Arts Classes. The teachers, the Carrow siblings, were awful, hitting students with spells left and right, commanding them to attack one another with banned spellwork and the Unforgivable Curses. Luna didn't like those curses, they made people very upset, especially Neville. Poor, dear Neville. He'd landed in the Hospital Wing this morning, defending a little First Year girl from getting hit with a "misguided" Diffindo charm from a smirking Fifth Year Slytherin named Rufus Marben.
However, that didn't mean all the teachers were awful. The original teachers had tried to make life as bearable as possible for their students, keeping up with normal classes, giving words of advice and encouragement, and helping heal injured students after classes. Numerous times, she'd seen the Heads of the Houses confront the Carrows, exchanging both spellwork and insults in order to protest the mistreatment of their students.
Many students who'd protested these abuses of themselves, as well as of others, had been guinea pig "volunteers" for the Dark Arts classes. Madame Pomphrey had her hands quite full with that lot. The Hospital Wing was almost always full to bursting now, packed with students who'd been brave or stupid enough to defend themselves. Luna went down there each week, having volunteered to maintain the medical potions supply and keep the wounded company.
The Room of Requirement, she reflected, was a very useful room to have. The whole thing had enchanted itself to house the entirety of Dumbledore's Army, making hammocks and bunkbeds and steamer trunks and bookshelfs, and even a target practice range to keep their spellwork sharp. All of their things had moved there too, even hers, which made her quite pleasantly surprised. Her things didn't get trashed anymore, at least not by the students, but the Death Eaters had been known to rifle through "suspicious" students' belongings if it suited them, and if anyone protested...well, Luna didn't like to think about that.
But that ended today, at least for her. Luna knew that today would be her last day here. The war would be won, she knew that. Harry Potter would win it, and the world would rejoice, she knew that too. But she wouldn't be around to see it.
The Wrackspurts had told her to go up to the Astronomy Tower and wait for the only star in the sky, and look at it until all she could see was white. They'd said that she needed to go, that the war would be over soon, and the world would rebuild itself. She knew that they were right.
However, that didn't mean that she couldn't say good-bye first. She'd sent a note to her Daddy, telling him what happened, and that she hoped that she could write to him again soon, wherever she was going. Neville had been given a hug, and told not to worry about her, and she'd try to see if they could write letters to each other. Ginny had gotten the same treatment, although her hug was slightly shorter than Neville's hug had been.
Now it was night time, the light of the star radiant and sparkling like a freshly polished diamond in the inky sky. She smiled, holding her hand out, reaching up to the light. She stepped up onto the ledge, wanting to catch the light and hold it in her hands, hold it up to her heart and see the shining aura fill her entire being with warmth.
She took a step too far, and dropped, falling like a marionette with the strings cut. She wasn't afraid.
A crack resounded, breaking the crisp, icy silence of the night, and Luna Lovegood vanished in midair, only halfway down the Astronomy Tower, a few Wrackspurts flitting about the ledge the only sign she'd even been there at all.