-I am really bad at poems, but I shall try to write some, just for you, for reading this right now

The glass broke, shattered
Our gazes were torn, distracted
You stared at me, in horror
But it's alright, I chose to fall for you
And yet I hate fate for letting me do so

Our hearts broke, shattered
The future escaped, lost
You tried to warn me, of myself
But it was too late for you and me, for I made a decision
And yet I hate fate for letting me do so

The dreams so dear to us broke, shattered
Lucifer stole me away, enticed
You wanted to save me, desperate
But I stopped you by throwing words of hate, though they hurt me too
And yet I thank fate for letting me do so
Because all that I do, I do them for you, and to mend those shattered dreams
If only I am not too late

-Sylver-

He had absolutely no idea what the hell just happened.

One second he was battling in the great hall, trying to avenge for Percy, and yet the next second he was blasted by some stupid hex. And ended up into this infinite dark tunnel.

Where is this supposed to lead to anyway?

The torches on the wall were barely enough to allow him to see where he was going, and yet he did not even stumble once.

Weird.

Just as he was thinking about this, the surroundings suddenly vanished. What the heck? As quick as the tunnel disappeared into thin air, a girl suddenly appeared in front of him, out of nowhere.

"What the hell. Where am I, for I am damn sure that I am not in hell nor heaven right now. I know that I have lived a bad life, but you do not have to torture me like this, do you?"

The girl laughed. She had silvery blonde hair and was wearing a long silky dress. And her laugh was like chimes, really joyful.

"No, you are really wrong, Ronald Billius Weasley."

"How am I wrong?"

She smiled, "For one, you are far from dead."

He frowned, greatly confused, "Okay, then – then where am I?"

"You are at, as we call it, the point. This is where you get sent to if you have to make a decision which would change the entire wizarding world, and also the muggle world."

He frowned, "Then I guess you have met Harry Potter tons of times, didn't you?"

The girl, however, did not seem to get what he meant, and settled with looking confused, "Harry Potter? I do know of him, but the boy has yet to meet me."

"Are you kidding. He's made tons of world-changing decisions already, at least once or twice every year, I might add."

The girl shook her head seriously, "Why would I kid you? I have never seen Harry Potter appear at the point before. But let's get back to you. Which one do you choose?"

He blinked rather slowly, "Err – what do you mean by that?"

"Do you want to carry on, or to die."

Death sounds like a rather good idea. However, why would he choose to die when he can do so after kicking a few more butts of those villains.

"Well – I guess I would just carry on with what I am doing now."

The girl smiled again, "If you say so. And if I might offer a piece of advice, just follow where you heart points if you cannot decide or think for yourself. And if you are lost, think back."

He grinned, "Well – thank you, even though I don't quite get what you are saying – "

But before he could finish his statement, darkness swallowed him whole as he felt himself falling through a chute of black. And his world was devoured by oblivion. When he woke up again, he was lying on something fairly hard, but with a slight spongy covering. He wondered what it was for a while before deciding that he couldn't be bothered. All that he wanted to do then was to get back to Hogwarts and finished off as many death eaters as possible.

But somehow, he was feeling really hungry, tired and his whole body ached.

But why?

He had not feel anything before. But now, he felt that it would be so easy to slip into an endless sleep that you don't ever need to wake up from.

Then someone screamed.

It was very annoying, he decided, scrunching up his features as he tried to block out the noise in vain. Thankfully, it was cut off abruptly a while later, but it was again replaced by a blubbering, fidgety sort of explanation that was just as annoying, though it was, slightly, lower-pitched.

"What is it now, Parkinson?" A brisk, no nonsense sort of voice asked impatiently. His eyes lit up. If it was Parkinson, then he must be at Hogwarts. But why weren't there giants wrecking the castle, and why is the sky so bright, as though it is the morning. The last time he was conscious, it was already near midnight.

Or exactly midnight.

'O-over there! Behind th-the bushes!'

Ron heard an irritated sigh and felt that he could empathise with the sigher completely.

'You better not be having me on, or you'll be cleaning the toilets all week, next week as well.'

The screamer gave a squeal and Ron felt like swearing at her. He held his tongue, however, when he heard the rustle of a brush being parted and choking gasp was heard. Opening his eyes slowly, with much reluctance, to find a shocked Hufflepuff staring down at her, his bright yellow hair matching the prefect badge glittering on his chest.

"Who – who are you?" he stammered.

Ron could only glare at the flustered fool in front of him, he don't have that much time to do this, "I am supposed to be the one asking that. Who the hell are you, and the last time I checked, Ernie Macmillan was the Hufflepuff prefect, not you." He groused, his voice somehow fairly steady, though a little thick.

"What are you talking about? The only Macmillan that we know here is in her second year, and she is snobby as hell, how could she be a prefect?"

Ron was stunned, but he quickly collected himself, reminding himself to find out what the hell was happening later, "I guess I am a bit disorientated, but I am in severe pain now, could you at least get me someone who can actually help?"

'Of course,' the boy said, before spinning around and ordering the girl named Parkinson to go and call for any professor available.

'Are you going to be all right?' he asked tentatively.

Ron glared at him, not moving from his fairly comfortable position on the grass. 'No,' he answered bluntly.

'What's wrong?'

'A lot of things, none of which I want or am entitled to tell you,' he huffed.

'Oh great,' the boy moaned. 'You're another one of those pissy Slytherins, aren't you? So high and mighty on your soapboxes, looking down on the rest of the world –'

'How for Merlin's sake am I supposed to look down at you when I'm lying on the floor, or when my whole body is hurting like bloody hell?' Ron spat back distastefully.

'Now, now, there's no need for that kind of language,' a familiar voice said from behind the Hufflepuff.

Ron's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets when he heard that voice.

Dumbledore.

He immediately tried to sit up, inadvertently groaning in pain as he did so.

'Don't move,' the professor said gently, looking less tired, and old than he had the last time Ron had seen him. But the thing is, he shouldn't be here at all. He's dead, wasn't he?

"I – I have to – " Ron stumbled on his words as he tried to get up.

Dumbledore frowned, watching as he hefted himself to his feet, wincing heavily as each movement caused immense pain to him.

'What happened to you?'

'A lot.' Rom replied. 'Professor, can we discuss this at somewhere private?' he asked with a significant look at the two students, who were watching them with unmasked curiosity.

'First I think you need to visit Headmaster Dippet.'

Wait. Who in Merlin's pants is Headmaster Dippet?

What had him gotten himself into now? A crazy world in another dimension or something?

Oh dear, that actually makes sense!

'No.' Ron stopped him. Normally he never would have dared to talk to Dumbledore this way, if at all – respect for the dead and all that – but he had been through a lot since then and he needed to tell someone he could actually trust, 'I need to talk to you alone.'

'You know me?'

He snorted in disbelief. Even in this world – where ever it was – Dumbledore would still be well known. 'Who doesn't know you?'

The professor stood a long minute, contemplating, before his eyes twinkled and he said wryly, 'I'm sure the rules can be bent a little.'

'Trust me, they'll be bent more than a little,' he muttered under his breath as he followed him towards the castle. With his back turned, Ron did not see the momentary concern flash across Dumbledore's features as he heard, clearly, what he had said with the spooky advanced hearing of a good teacher. Ron looked up at Hogwarts with a strong sense of nostalgia for the old days, when things had been normal.

But, then, things had never been normal.

His first year at Hogwarts was spent dealing with giant chess sets and getting knocked out cold in the end. His second year was dealing with the news that Basilisk was in Hogwarts and having to slide down a creepy tunnel into the chamber of year heralded the dementors and escaped Sirius Black, a werewolf and a betrayor. Fourth year he had oversee his best friend fighting his way through Triwizard as Voldermort the fifth year he and a group of other students went into the ministry and fought against Voldemort and his Death Year saw the death of Dumbledore and the first of many attacks on Hogwarts. Previous year had been the year of death and reconciliations, joining in the final battle, which has yet to end.

No, he had never quite known what a normal life meant.

But, in between the tragedies and the adventures there had been laughter and love and quidditch and butterbeer and Hogsmeade visits and Christmases and Birthdays and even a wedding or two.

When he looked up at the castle it was not the deaths she was reminded of, but family and friends and all of the good times. Dumbledore watched the stranger's face with interest. Though he seemed just of age, his eyes had a depth of sorrow to them that he had not seen since that morning when he had looked at himself in the mirror and let his mask slip – just a little – as he remembered his long dead sister.

The boy walked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders and his form seemed so frail, so weak that it seemed impossible that he might stand for longer than a second before his grief carried him down a road of no return.

As Ron stepped into the Entrance Hall he paused momentarily, closing his eyes and just breathing in the smell of magic that was purely Hogwarts. He had never hoped to see this place as peaceful as it is now again, never hoped to see sunlight or clouds or his friends ever again. At that Ron caught himself.

'Professor?' he asked quietly as he followed Dumbledore to the transfiguration classrooms.

'Yes?'

'Where are we?'

'Why, Hogwarts School of Wizadry and Witchcraft, of course.'

'Then – what year is it?'

Dumbledore's head snapped round and he stared at the strange boy intently for a moment, his bright blue eyes trying to pierce through him, but for Ron occulumency had become second nature – he barely realised he had brought up his barriers until he felt a push. Harry had taught him all that he could, along with Hermione, as they prepared readily for the final battle.

'Tell me,' Ron said on a sigh, now having to concentrate to keep the professor out of his mind.

'1943,' Dumbledore said, backing slowly away from his mental barriers, 'Where did you learn skills like that?'

'If you will allow me to explain, professor, and I will tell you everything.'

The old man nodded slowly, sitting at his desk and offering Ron one of the students' chairs. After all that had happened so far, and the thin tiredness of the boy before him Dumbledore found he was more disturbed than surprised when Ron placed several warding and silencing charms around the two of them before proceeding with his explanation.

'I'm from the future. I've been sent back over fifty years-' at that Ron stopped, his eyes wide with surprise and realisation. A breath passed his lips, before he turned back to his monologue.

'Sent back to, well, I'm not sure yet, but it involves Riddle. He – you're right professor. Riddle becomes powerful, very powerful. You fought, we all did, but in the end he was too powerful.' Ron let out a long, shuddering breath. 'I'm the only one sent back. Many died, all of them people that I know, and loved, and I can't let that happen again. I know that meddling with time is dangerous and messy. A very clever friend once used it for almost a year to do lots of extra lessons, but all she ever did was learn. I'm back to change all of history.'

'You can't do that,' Dumbledore said without his usual preamble.

Ron swept around to face him, ignoring the tears rolling shamefully and heatedly down his flushed cheek, his lanky red hair clinging to the damp. 'Don't you get it? They are all going to die! All of them! Every single family member and friend. Every last remainder of what was good and right in the world would be tortured and killed, the very best of whom tortured daily for information that didn't exist! And I would have been forced watched. Being force to watch and listen as they scream and scream and when the sadistic bastard finally kill them as I listen to their laughter and glee.'

Ron collapsed to the floor, holding his head in his hands. He just wanted to cry without a care for the world right now. He could not take it anymore. He was away from the battles. At least he could escape reality for a while. Even if it is just a while.

A hoarse whisper floated from his dry and cracked lips, 'The prophecy, it is fake. The horcuxes, cannot be destroyed. You would have to help me.'

So, how is it? Do review! And thank you guys for loving Trainwreck so much! :)