Time: Chapter Two

Ron stumbled forward the moment his feet hit ground. His body sprawled out upon the stable dry surface and tried to regain itself. Looking up in to the darkness Ron could feel his eyes adjust to the light and begin to notice shapes previously hidden by the black. The images of a medium length decorative coach complete with end tables caught his eye, the matching arm chairs, coffee table, and grand piano sitting silently in the corner screamed of the room's untouched air. Staggered of breathe he lifted himself up off the wooden floors and onto a nearby chair. "Lumos" he whispered, igniting his wand. The little ball of light, at the very tip of his wand, flickered and reflected upon the mirrors, picture frames, glass vases, and the many other scraps of reflective matter placed precariously about the room. The fire place rested complete with marble hearth and intricately carved white mantle surrounded by a sea of cherry wood flooring, most of which was covered by innately woven Persian rugs. Each detail of the salon so perfectly held its place that only one conclusion could be made. It was staged. No one truly lived in this room. It was merely a place for parties. A place for men and women to stand around with wine glasses and champagne flutes in hand, laughing greedily and talking nothing of consequence. Even the bookshelf lining the walls held some form of undeserved arrogance. Each golden leafed book, no doubt first editions, huddled glowingly on the shelves. The wet bar in the corner, piled high with spirits and drink trapped within crystal bottles, clinched it. Ronald Weasley most certainly did not like this house or whoever just happened to live here.

Even the air, which smelt of stale coffee and chill, spoke to the house's bitterness. Ron had often imagined Draco Malfoy living in a place like this only with far more cobwebs and an unmistakable green twinge to everything.

In the distance there came the sound of hastening bare feet pattering along an adjacent hallway. Ron quickly jumped up from his seat and leaped behind an oversized Davenport before distinguishing his wand with a simply "nox." From around the corner popped a small house elf. She reminded Ron, in a way, of Dobby; Lucius Malfoy's old house elf. The two shared similar elongated noses and the signature house elf eyes only this elf in particular seemed to have suffered a rather intense injury. The tip of her right ear appeared to have been severed.

The injured little house elf bobbed breathlessly around the room cleaning this and pouring glasses of that until the room looked presentable in her opinion. A loud popping noise could be heard from the next room. The elf frost next to the now roaring fire, her hands placed stiffly behind her back and eyes looking dead straight at an empty wall. "Ah, Matilda there you are. We've been standing here for near to a minute now, where is my brandy?" Ron couldn't believe what he was hearing. That voice, that condescending arrogant voice belonged to none other than his own mother. "It's in here, mum" replied the girl referred to as Matilda. "Shall I take your coats then?"

"Of course you should take our coats!" she answered rudely though it was clearly a rhetorical question. "Arthur dear, now remind me why we keep her employed. Couldn't we get one of the elves to do her job?" she asked walking into the room followed by both Matilda and Ron's father. "Old family friend, needs the money dreadfully, I'm afraid."

"Ah, yes. So sad. But that doesn't account for her stupidity. Brandy, Matilda, brandy" she said shaking her fist at the girl. "Surely one of the elves would be more compliant!"

"So sorry, madam." She said placing the glass in Mrs. Weasley's grip. Once she had taken a long swig of the ginger liquid, Mrs. Weasley sat herself with relative ease on the plush sofa. With another swig and a sigh she asked "where are my youngest? I wish to see my youngest" "I'm afraid they're asleep, mum" Answered Matilda. "Well then wake them up! I said I wanted to see my babies." "Very well" Said Matilda, giving a slight curtsy before exiting the room.

In the time it took Mr. Weasley to light a cigar, Matilda had return trailed by two sleepy looking children in purple silk pajamas and yet another house elf. The two children's hair was an unmistakable Weasley attribute but it wasn't until Mrs. Weasley called her children's names that Ron finally recognized them. "Genevra, Ronald come and see your ma-ma." Ron nearly gasped. How could he have not seen it before? It was him, that little boy in the purple silk pajamas was him.

Each child moved forward and deposited a kiss on each of their mother's heavily make-upped checks and retreated back to share the armchair not currently occupied by Mr. Weasley, as though the practice had been observed a thousand times or more. By now the second House elf had moved identically towards the other and to Ron's surprise had the very same mark. Could it be that the removal of the tip of the right ear was customary here? Is it possible that "The Most Honorable House of Weasley" couldn't even take the time to recognize their own house elves and instead had taken to so cruely marking them? Maybe he did agree with Hermione and S.P.E.W after all. The very thought made Ron sick.

"Now tell me, Genevra, how have things been without us?" Ginny, whose long red hair had been braided back into two rows protruding down her back, replied in a submissive but nonetheless automatic tone "we've missed you ever so much, mother" it was clear that this was the assumed response. "Ah, good. And you, Ronald? How has your first term at Hogwarts been?" "Very well, mother, thank you."

"Well? Ronald, we did not bring you all the way back home for Easter holidays to simply hear 'very well'. Are you not exceedingly popular as both your father and I were? Have you not received perfect marks? It is bad enough you're a Gryffindor but haven't you at least made friends with our dear friends' Lucius and Narsissa's boy… um oh yes, Draco? Or perhaps the Crabbe's boy, victor? Isn't there anything you'd like to share, Ronald, anything? She said staring down at the boy scrutinizing his every feature.

"A girl was nearly trampled to death by a troll on Halloween."

"Ah yes I remember hearing about that somewhere. What was her name?"

"Hermione Granger" he replied "they didn't know if she was going to live when the teachers found her."

"Granger, Granger, why haven't I heard that name?"

"She's a muggle born."

"Ah, serves her right! Filthy creatures."

"I don't know" answered the boy shyly. "She seems kinda nice."

"No, Ronald, you must stay away from her. Mudbloods are like viruses attaching themselves to anything they can. I will not permit you to run about with such riff-raff" with one last glance over of the children, Mrs. Weasley sighed and said "well if you have nothing more to interest your ma-ma you may return to bed"

"Yes mother" the two said in perfect unison, both taking Matilda's waiting hands. Young Ronald took one last defeated look at his mother before finally leaving.

"Mudbloods, can you imagine, Arthur? Next he'll be on about that Potter boy" she stated clearly aghast.

"Yes dear" came Mr. Weasley's answer from deep within a Dailey Prophet.

Ron was infuriated. How could they, his own parents, be such monsters? Hermione had nearly been killed and all they could say was "serves her right". As annoying as Hermione could be she never, not in a million years, deserved that. And what was that bit about Harry? Over the years Harry had saved his life so many times, granted it was because of Harry that Ron's life was in danger but nevertheless. He and harry were best mates, had been since day one. How could they be so cruel? So vindictive? So-so terrible?

Just as the lump in the back of Ron's throat began to swell past its quo and his clenched fists began to shake the blue portkey return and he was pulled away yet again.

I love Mrs. Weasley to death. Hated doing this to her. But it's important, I promise!