A/N—Last Ron Weasley remembers is going to bed, thoroughly exhausted. He is a fifth year at Hogwarts, and he had just walked with Harry Potter up to their dormitory after an especially rowdy post-Gryffindor Quidditch victory party.
Ron awoke. But it was that kind of awake where you're not sleeping, but your eyes are still closed.
Something felt strange. He could feel a presence beside him in bed. Not wanting to open his eyes, he tried to force himself back asleep. It didn't work. He'd have to see what was going on. He had the most peculiar feeling…
Turning over, and slowly opening his eyes, Ron let out a gasp of surprise. There was a woman. Beside him. In bed. Only it wasn't even his bed. It was a large queen sized bed covered in a patterned comforter. The bedroom surrounding him was decorated in paisely wallpaper with matching oak furniture.
Why the hell is there someone in bed with me?, thought Ron. And where am I?
Ron stumbled out of bed to discover another surprise. He was only wearing boxers. His beside companion looked vaguely familiar, but Ron had no idea who it was. There was something about her hair that screamed resembelance.
Grabbing a terry cloth robe to cover himself (meanwhile glowing bright red), Ron walked towards a sliding glass window. It was still dark outside. The soft lace curtains fluttered gently, as a few lights twinkled from outside.
Wait a minute, thought Ron. I look different.
Indeed he did. Felt different too. Fingering his face and feeling his body, Ron gazed utterly nonplussed at his reflection in the glass.
He appeared to be about twenty-five years old. His bright red hair fell in shocks around his face, and his round hazel eyes carried a confused expression. His skin was very white underneath the numerous freckles on his face. By his guess, he was about six foot two and still long and gangly.
Still thinking, what the hell?, Ron wandered out of the bedroom into the living room. He still had no idea what was going on. The living was decorated in nice decorator blue. With matching furniture, and upscale furnishings, he guessed he was pretty well off. He stopped in front of a display of pictures.
There was a picture of himself, looking slightly older than he could last remember (about 15), Harry, and Hermione, apparently on their Hogwarts' graduation day. Hermione was waving intellectually, hair still bushy. Ron was blushing and waving, while Harry was being distracted by something out of view.
There were other pictures, too. There was one of Ron and Harry, taken about a year after the Hogwarts one.
There was also another one, too. It was of him, Ron, and a pretty woman in a wedding dress. He was standing beside her, kissing her, in wizard's groom robes.
Hermione?! Thought Ron incredulously. Ohmigod…I am married to—Hermione!
At that precise moment, Ron felt a soft kiss on his cheek, and soft touch on his arm.
Repulsed, he pulled away. It was Hermione, wearing a blue morning robe, hair tousled.
"What's wrong, Ron?" she questioned sleepily.
"I—I," he stammered. What was he supposed to say? The very thought of them being married. My god, thought Ron, this means were married—we share a bed—we have—s—yikes! His thoughts broke off as he shuddered. "I feel odd today," he finished lamely.
"Come into the kitchen," she replied, steering him through a door to the right. "Let me fix you breakfast."
What is going on? I feel like I've been transported ten years into the future. Last I remember was the party in Gryffindor tower…am I really living in my body, my life at twenty-five?!
Hermione slapped a plate in front of Ron on the table and sat down to eat.
"Isn't it terrible about what Harry said yesterday?" she questioned, taking a sip from a cup on the table.
"Harry? Oh! Er—yes," answered Ron, becoming increasingly confused by the second.
I have got to find Harry. Maybe he can tell me what's going on.
"Shouldn't you be going into work, hon? Won't you be late?" Hermione questioned after a very silent breakfast.
Work?!
"I—er—I took the day off," he replied.
"Why didn't you tell me, Ron?" said Hermione looking peevish. "I could have taken off too, and we could have spent the day together."
"Sorry, Hermione," answered Ron, at loss for words. He was still in shock.
Looking down briefly while Hermione had her back turned, Ron caught a glimpse of small golden ring on his left hand.
"Oh dear!" Hermione gasped, gazing at the clock on the wall. "Look at the time! I have to get to work." And with a wave of the wand, her bathrobe was transformed into a set of dull maroon robes. She bent over to place a kiss on his head, but Ron ducked, pretending to be very interested the Daily Prophet that just arrived.
Looking slightly put out, Hermione Disapperated.
Must find Harry. I've got to find Harry. Where could he be? Would he be at work? Where? Thought Ron franticly.
After searching the house for a clue about Harry's whereabouts, all Ron turned up was a bit of parchment with Harry's name on it. It bore the seal "Committee on Experimental Charms".
How do I get there? Can I just Apparate? But I haven't taken the test at Hogwarts. Well, I'm supposed to be about twenty-five, so would "I" know how to Apparate already? I guess it doesn't hurt to try. I really hope I don't splinch myself…
Ron raised his wand and looked down at himself, preparing to Disapperate. He was still wearing boxers.
Swearing softly, Ron ran into the bedroom and changed his clothes.
Ron winced as he recited the incantation, still hoping to not be splinched, and Disapperated from his flat.
Ron opened his eyes to stare into the face of a much older Harry Potter than he remembered last.
"You could've knocked, Ron," Harry said disgruntled, buried under a pile of parchment. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be at work?" he said.
"Um, no, I took the day off. I have some questions to ask you," replied Ron, looking around the room.
"Shoot away."
"Well, lately I've had some—er—memory lapses," Harry stared at Ron. How to put this so he'll understand? "I woke up this morning, thinking I was still in Hogwarts—back when were 15."
"15? How odd," replied Harry, shuffling through a stack of parchment. "I don't remember experimenting with any Memory Charms last week. Don't know what to tell you Ron. Maybe you've been married too long." Harry chuckled at his own joke.
"Too long?" questioned Ron, mistaking Harry's sarcasm.
"Joking, Ron—joking. Two years isn't too long. At least you don't have kids yet. I'm net especially looking forward to the married life…don't even a steady girl right now," he smiled wryly. "Too much damn work!"
"Oh—okay," replied Ron, for lack of a better response. "I'll go now."
And Ron Disapperated from Harry's office.
To his great surprise, Ron found Hermione back at the flat.
"I thought you went to work," he said.
"I decided to come back and fix you lunch," she replied, smiling very broadly.
"Why?"
"I thought it'd be nice," said Hermione. "But first," she moved around to behind the chair he was sitting in. "Close your eyes."
"O—okay," said Ron uncertainly, closing his eyes. His day was getting weirder by the minute.
"Open them!" exclaimed Hermione.
Ron opened his eyes to find a small wrapped package lying in front of him on the table.
"What's this for?"
"Happy Father's Day, Ron!" exclaimed Hermione, overcome with happiness, smiling more broadly by the minute.
Ron choked. "Happy—Father's Day? Good lord, we don't have kids, Harry said so!"
Hermione looked slightly puzzled. "No, Ron, don't be a prat. I'm pregnant!"
A/N—Haha…isn't it evil to end it right there. Poor Ron, I felt sorry for him as I wrote this. Thanks SOOO much to Honoria Glossop for the WONDERFUL plot idea (you rock!). Part 2 coming soon…PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!
Disclaimer—I do not own Ron, Hermione, or Harry. Heck, I don't even own the plot all the way! :-) I just own the words…