1. Thanks a lot to romioneB for helping beta this chapter. Also thanks to Ana-DaughterofHades who helped me years ago on the initial version of this.
2. Any error here is mine and not from my reviewer.
3. So I have picked quite a pace for my usual self this January, but still, I'm kind on the slow side of things. I am working on chap7 of the Halfblood Weasleys next... then expect Son of The Legend, more of this story, Percy Jackson story, Gatekeeper's Book, Founder's Scroll and we'll see after that.
4. I have a twitter account (TimeTravelFFics).
5. Thanks to the Guest reviews.
Time came to a halt the moment Ron took in the image before him. At first, he was incapable of moving — or even thinking straight. It was surely a nightmare, for the girl lying unconscious on the floor couldn't possibly be who he thought she was.
"Hermione!" he shouted, willing his body to move.
Ron pushed desks away as he made his way to Hermione. He dragged her a short distance away from the cauldron's spills, struggling with the weight that would've been a breeze for his older self. He didn't know what had put Hermione in this state, but he could bet his pants on that ruddy potion not doing any good. Kneeling next to the girl, Ron pulled her upper body up from the cold hard stone, but it wasn't until he had turned her over that he found himself stunned by her appearance. Hermione looked peaceful enough; her colour, however, was all wrong. There was no sign of a wound or even pain, but her skin was ghostly pale, and there was a subtle hint of purple around her mouth that Ron didn't like at all.
"Hermione!" he called again, giving her a gentle shake.
The lack of a response materialised Ron's worst fears out of his memories. It was like going back to the blasted day when they had escaped from Malfoy Manor, to that same hell he had sworn never to let them experience again. The bitter smell of that potion was a stark contrast to the salty waves from back then, yet everything else felt dreadfully familiar. Hermione was a young girl now, and she wasn't supposed to go through this. Ron's auror experience wasn't worth squat if he had still failed to keep her safe.
Something awful had clearly happened to Hermione, and Ron had been too useless to stop it.
Pushing the brewing guilt away for later, Ron shook her body again, more energetically this time. Then again. And again. Around him, everything remained foreign to his maddening distress, the silence almost piercing his ears. He found himself missing the sound of waves.
"Fuck, fuck fuck… Fuck! What…? How?... Hermione!... Hermione! Say something!" he shouted, desperate. Still, Hermione didn't answer.
Why was she so damn pale?!
That sharp smell flooded Ron's nostrils again. He wouldn't have recognized the scent of that rotten potion if it wasn't so freshly stuck in his mind. It was that heady mix of Valerian with the other herbs from the Forgetfulness Potion. If Ron had paid more attention to it during breakfast, none of this would've happened.
It had been an eternity since Ron had discovered about Saul Croaker, and he'd let himself feel foolishly hopeful because of it. It had been even longer since he had wandered casually through the halls of Hogwarts with no recollection of who he was. Had Hermione been lying unconscious in this room since then? He couldn't even handle that thought.
"Stay with me, Hermione. Don't leave me… I'm… I'm a bloody mess without you," Ron pleaded, pushing her messy hair to the side to touch her forehead, which was as cold as stone. Then, caring little about who might overhear him, he added something that he hadn't voiced out loud in what felt like forever. "I love you," he mumbled.
By all means, that should have been a shocker to the young girl, but Hermione gave no sign of hearing a single blasted word he said.
Please, don't let this be Fred all over again. Not again. Not with her.
He couldn't lose her. It didn't matter that it was the younger version of his wife, she was still Hermione. What was the point of this whole effing thing if she was gone? What was the point of anything?
Leaning forward to her chest, Ron took her wrist in his hand. A painfully long time passed before he noticed the faintest of pulses, followed by an almost imperceptible move of her ribcage and a waning breath.
A flood of joy came back to him. She wasn't gone, not yet, but he couldn't lose himself in the relief. He had to do something, and fast.
Ron stood up, giving a hasty look around before turning to the wide open door. He was supposed to be a trained auror, yet that was the first moment in which he scanned the room since he'd come inside. The sight of Hermione on the floor had made him completely forget his training. If there had been an attacker inside, he would have been out of combat for his recklessness. Not like any of it mattered now.
With a flick of his wand, Ron cast a non-verbal Feather-Light Charm on Hermione. The difference in their sizes wasn't as striking at this age, yet the spell allowed Ron to carry her in his arms as effortlessly as if she were a pygmy puff.
Ron rushed her through the corridors as fast as hiss feet allowed him. Most of the school was at the Quidditch pitch, so his footsteps echoed loudly. He couldn't possibly care less about the game though, or about Dumbledore, or even the Philosopher's Stone.
As he made his way to the infirmary, Ron would occasionally glimpse down at the girl in his arms. Hermione's head was resting against his chest, her lips slightly parted as if she were fast asleep. Ron had never seen her like that, not this young. Still, now and then his mind would play tricks on him, making it seem as if it was an older Hermione who was lying unconscious instead; as if it was his wife and not this younger version of her who was in grave danger.
Is there much of a difference at this point? She's the same bloody person, isn't she?
Throughout his months spent in the past and his recurring mishaps, Ron had tried to tell himself that this wasn't his wife, if only to make the decision of returning to his own time easier. The last few minutes had smashed all those pretences to the ground. This girl was Hermione just the same, the one he had first met on the scarlet train and who would grow up to be the woman Ron loved. Her life was as precious to him as the version of her that he had left behind.
"Help! I need help!" Ron yelled, storming into the infirmary.
"What's all this commotion…? Oh my goodness! In Merlin's name, what happened?" asked Madam Pomfrey as she set her eyes on Hermione.
"I don't know! I don't know! I found her like this. You've got to help her!"
"Hurry then, boy! Put her on this bed!"
The next hour or so passed in a blur. First, Ron witnessed how Madam Pomfrey worked her magic urgently over Hermione, and later, once the matron had sent notice, he tried to explain to Professor McGonagall something Ron couldn't quite understand himself yet.
By the time Professor Dumbledore and Snape arrived, the matron's wandwork had become less frantic; still, Ron was yet to hear from her. Without taking her full attention away from Hermione, Madam Pomfrey exchanged some low words with the headmaster, who minutes later turned his attention to Ron.
"How is she?" Ron promptly questioned.
"From what I gather, Miss Granger should be fine. Although, this is a delicate situation, and you might have just saved her life," Dumbledore said gravely. Even though Ron was terrified of having been so close to losing her, he couldn't avoid a sigh of relief. "Poppy mentions you found her in an empty classroom with a spilled potion."
"I—It smelled like that Forgetfulness Potion, but I couldn't tell what it was for sure. I—I had to bring her here," Ron muttered, throwing a worried look towards Hermione's bed.
"The best course of action, undoubtedly. I must say, what you have accomplished today goes well beyond what one could expect from a student of your age. Wouldn't you say so?" he asked, turning to McGonagall and Snape.
"Most certainly. I'm not sure how this came to be in the first place, yet twenty points for Gryffindor are in order for your actions," McGonagall replied, not aware of how little the points mattered to Ron right then. He didn't deserve a reward, not in the slightest.
This is on me. This happened because I came back.
Snape huffed, not bothering to turn to Ron. "Regardless, the boy's assumption is most likely mistaken. A simple Forgetfulness Potion can't do something like this, nor can any of the potions I teach in first year for that matter. My guess would be that Granger was foolish enough to mess with potions well ahead of her skills."
The words brought Ron out of his inner guilt. "That's rubbish! She wouldn't have blown it up. Not her. Not Hermione!" he spat.
The moment he said it, Ron knew the words were true. The whole setting had given the impression of an accident, yet knowing Hermione, that rang particularly suspicious to him. She didn't mess up the potion. She wouldn't. Something else must have happened.
"Weasley, that's not the proper tone to—"
"It's alright, Minerva," Dumbledore interrupted, ignoring the fuming Snape next to him. "The boy is clearly distressed, as is understandable. A Calming Draught might be just the thing, though first we have to sort the true nature of this mysterious potion. Mr Weasley, could you give Professor Snape the location of the classroom where you found Miss Granger?"
Ron gave the best directions he could, and Snape left begrudgingly. After being reassured that Hermione was out of danger and finding himself without any other options, Ron had to accept a private meeting with Dumbledore as well.
The path away from the infirmary felt way quicker than the one that got him there. It seemed as if Ron had just taken his eyes away from the Hospital Wing's doors when they suddenly found themselves facing the spinning gargoyle.
"Please take a seat, Mr Weasley," Professor Dumbledore said once inside, his piercing blue eyes following Ron all the way to the armchair.
Ron tried to appear curious of all the silvery trinkets the headmaster had in his office, but he wasn't sure if the act had convinced Dumbledore. He would have tried to ask about Fawkes, who seemed to have been reborn only a short time ago, but he didn't feel like it. After all, Hermione was unconscious on a bed in the Hospital Wing, and she shouldn't be. He wasn't in the mood for anything.
The old headmasters on the office walls blathered uncaringly, reminding Ron of the portraits of Dumbledore and Snape that he had seen in his own time, before this whole mess had started. Minerva McGonagall, who had stayed back in the Hospital Wing, owned this office in his future. She hadn't changed much of it after the war, but she displayed more books than shining things, and had a huge barn owl instead of a phoenix. It felt like ages since Ron last played a casual game of chess against her in this very place.
"Would you care for anything? A glass of water perhaps?"
After what happened, Ron didn't feel deserving of a comfortable chat with a glass of water in his hand. The sooner he returned to Hermione's side, the better.
He shook his head.
"I hope you're finding yourself comfortable here. I do try to keep this office interesting. This marvellous bird is called Fawkes by the way, he's a phoenix. Do you happen to know what wonderful creatures phoenixes are?"
Ron nodded spiritlessly, "They're reborn."
The lack of enthusiasm caught the headmaster off guard. "Their tears have impressive healing properties as well, but I have the feeling that you aren't presently interested in such matters," he elaborated before a brief pause. "I see, well, let's continue with the pressing matter then. Mind explaining your whole day to me? Please don't leave any details behind, as those might turn out to be important in the end."
Ron talked about what happened, only this time he included his morning incident with the Forgetfulness Potion, which Dumbledore didn't miss. After all, that potion seemed to be all around him that day. For a moment, Ron thought about Malfoy, but he dismissed the suspicion right away. Whatever had happened to Hermione couldn't possibly be that git's doing. No, this was most likely the doing of someone more skilled and malicious. Someone way worse.
"And you left the Quidditch game?" Dumbledore asked, "Clearly the best option, but I'm aware that you're very close to Mr Potter. You must have had a strong reason to leave."
Ron considered telling him the truth then, or at least pointing the headmaster in the right direction, but he decided against it. Dumbledore would suspect Quirrell regardless of what he said, and Ron had no head to make that choice just now.
"Hermione was missing, I—I— well, I thought that she could be in trouble."
"This kind of trouble?"
"No, of course not. I just had a bad feeling, and no one had seen her the whole day."
He kind of expected the headmaster to read his mind, but the old wizard didn't deem that necessary. Ron knew some rough Occlumancy, at least enough to keep simple attempts on his thoughts at bay. The only problem with that would be that Dumbledore would find his knowledge of Occlumancy suspicious, to say the least.
"Concerning indeed. And, may I ask how you knew where to find her?"
Ron couldn't give the map away either. "I—I didn't! I looked everywhere!"
The old headmasters on the walls were curious, some of them even whispering between each other. Ron's explanation had been pure rubbish, and naturally Dumbledore didn't buy it.
"We are very lucky then. In a castle of this size it is quite difficult to find missing people. Especially in a room that has grown out of use," he gave a pointed look at Ron over his half moon spectacles. After a pause, he proceeded, "I was told that you carried Miss Granger to the Hospital Wing, with no apparent strain from what I've been told."
Ron was gobsmacked, he didn't have a way out of that one. "Y—Yes, professor. I used the Feather-Light Charm."
"Impressive. A proper execution of that spell — one that allows a young man of your age to carry such a weight — isn't required from a student until the end of their second year at the very least. How did you learn it? If you allow me the question."
"Saw it at the library. Thought it would be useful to know about it."
"Pretty useful indeed." The professor said as he studied Ron, who found the meeting to be much more like an interrogation session than a recounting of facts.
"Can I go see Hermione now, Professor?" Ron asked, a bit tense.
He didn't know what would happen if the headmaster discovered his secret. Would Dumbledore try to erase his mind to let the future be unaltered? It would be useless, since he had changed a lot of things already. Even so, Ron couldn't risk it. He couldn't let the old wizard take away the memories he cherished so much. If it came down to it, Ron didn't have much hope of taking Dumbledore down in a duel, but he wasn't willing to let the man obliviate him without a fight.
I just need to get through this meeting, then I'll find Croaker and get the hell out of here at bloody last. I still have to get back… Don't I?
Ron didn't know for sure anymore. He couldn't just leave the young Hermione like this, not without knowing what had happened and making sure it never happened again. On the other hand, he had definitely proven that his presence in the past did more harm than good. If he hadn't buggered things up as he'd done, Hermione would be perfectly healthy now. This was on him.
His musings were interrupted by Snape coming into the room. Between gritted teeth, Snape had to admit that the potion was indeed a Forgetfulness Potion, though one that had been altered. He wasn't sure of all it contained as of yet, or if Hermione had actually taken it, but he mentioned something about Doxy Poison being a probable ingredient — which was of course not part of the original mix.
Professor Dumbledore then dismissed Ron, not before giving him a curious look. The headmaster was more than likely going to keep his eyes on him now, a blasted turn of events, yet not presently his biggest concern.
Without another word, Ron ran back to the Hospital Wing.
o0o0o
The following days proved to be nothing but a gut wrenching wait. Ron wanted nothing more than to spend all of his time planted next to Hermione's bed waiting for the girl to wake up, however Professor McGonagall was having none of it, and threw his arse back to class whenever she saw him there.
It was infuriating, especially considering there was nothing new Ron could learn from the first year curriculum. Still, as Hermione had a better colour to her and Madam Pomfrey assured him that she would wake up in a few days, Ron begrudgingly complied.
Ron's upset state didn't go unnoticed by Harry and the twins. Shocked by what had befallen Hermione, they didn't say anything at first; however, that didn't mean that they would forget about it. At least Harry didn't ditch Ron now that he was spending all of his free time at the Hospital Wing, and even decided to join him. The young Harry wasn't that fond of Hermione, but still spared a few troubled glances towards her bed.
This boy hasn't gone through the same shite as the older Harry. This sort of rubbish can only take him by surprise.
Harry had other reasons to be in a sullen mood. As it turned out, Gryffindor had lost the game to Hufflepuff by fifty points, which was another deviation from the previous time. They were now second to last for the Quidditch Cup, and Malfoy was having a field day with his nasty remarks. Oliver Wood was surely crying in some distant hallway, and Harry wasn't looking much better himself. From what Ron heard, his friend had missed the snitch twice before Cedric beat him to it.
All around, it was baffling how little Ron cared about the timeline being altered again. Getting back at Malfoy wasn't important either. The git had messed with their drinks, but had nothing to do with Hermione's attack. Of that, Ron was completely sure.
Quirrell. It was Quirrell.
Ron's fists tightened just at the thought of that prick. Quirrell hadn't killed Hermione right away because he didn't want that attention from Dumbledore, but he wouldn't have minded her dying in his staged potion accident. Ron spent the whole first Defence class after Hermione's attack staring at the fake professor, a firm grip on his desk as he wondered what he should do.
Once Hermione woke up he would know for sure. Then, it would be time to make decisions.
Quirrell aside, Ron knew he had mucked things up, and the guilt was almost too much to bear. Convinced that he had done nothing except endanger his loved ones since he had come to the past, Ron wrote to Saul Croaker. It was the shortest of letters, an anonymous note asking the man to meet him at Hogsmeade on Saturday if he wanted to know more about that ruddy time-messing mirror of his. Hopefully Croaker would show up, and Ron would get the answers he had craved for so long.
"There you are!" Fred called one of those days, just as Ron and Harry were heading back to the Hospital Wing.
The twins and Percy had been confused by Ron's recent behaviour and his annoyance at being congratulated for earning those twenty points for Gryffindor. They were even slightly worried about Ron's bare minimum interest in food. However, this time around the twin's tone was rather upbeat, and their usual grins were back.
"We've been wanting to speak to you, Ronnie. Don't start getting all fussed up for nothing though. It's not about your.. Ehm, girl," said George.
Ron felt his ears flushing. Apparently, now everyone knew how important Hermione was to him, everyone except for Hermione herself. By all means a familiar memory, yet not a first-year one.
"She's only my friend! And I'm—"
Fred stopped him with a hand gesture, "Oy! Shut it! We already said that it wasn't about her."
"Then what is it?" Ron questioned bluntly. Harry looked equally confused.
"Well we had a certain object in our possession. Let's call it a map," George said, putting an arm over Ron's suddenly tense shoulders.
"We know you took it, no need to argue," said Fred, "It disappeared the day you mysteriously find this girl in an abandoned classroom, then it gets back to our trunk the very next day. Suspicious, ain't it?"
"Also, we saw when you put it back..." added George.
"Oh, right. There's that too."
"I needed it! Hermione was in danger! She was—"
"Hold it right there. We know you fancy the girl and you were worried—"
"I don't!" Ron argued, though his blushing didn't fool anyone. Not even Harry.
George went on as if he hadn't heard Ron. "It was a noble reason and all, but what we want to know is how you knew about it, or knew how to use it. We can always bugger you off about the girl later."
Ron made up a story. He said that he had seen them using it, and even when the twins weren't impressed by his explanation, they didn't have a better one. Ron told Harry that he found out just a few days ago and that he had forgotten to tell him. Harry frowned, and even muttered a cheeky complaint about being left out of the loop, but decided in the end that Hermione's accident was good enough of an excuse to forget about sharing that detail with him.
"Next time you have to ask," Fred warned Ron. "If you're planning to use it for a sweet prank, we might let you borrow it for a while."
"We might help."
Incredibly, Ron got out of that one just by promising not to tell anyone else about the map.
Hermione woke up the day after. Ron and Harry were talking about the Quidditch game a couple of beds away when it happened. Lately, Hermione had been looking much better, and that had relaxed Ron to some degree, at least enough to think about Quidditch again.
"Don't let Wood get to you. Practice's always good, but if you ask me, there was nothing awful about the way you were playing before the match," Ron insisted for the upteenth time, "If you had gone up there without being so tired and hungry, you would have easily won. You can blame that on Malfoy."
"How can you know for sure? The Hufflepuff seeker, Cedric, is brilliant. "
That was true, but it wasn't as if Cedric's style of snappy turns and zone pressing covering was unbeatable.
"You're brilliant as well! Look, if you had just—"
"R—Ron?" Hermione's faint voice had a confused tone to it. Ron sprung up and hurried to her bed, forgetting all about Quidditch.
"How are you feeling? Want me to call Madam Pomfrey?" he asked, even putting a hand on her forehead. It wasn't nearly as cold as it had been when he had found her.
Hermione was startled by the gesture, her cheeks visibly pink. "I'm fine, thank you."
"Ehm, great. I— Well, you know, you got us worried," Ron said, standing up awkwardly.
"What happened?"
"Don't you remember?" Harry asked, after sending an odd look to Ron, "You were poisoned. That's what Snape says at least."
The official story was that it had been a potion accident, yet everyone had a different way of telling it. Naturally, Harry was blaming Snape, and he didn't even try to hide the distaste for the man from his voice.
"Poisoned?!"
On her bed, Hermione looked bewildered. Not only because of Harry's words, but surely because of his presence there in the first place.
They explained it quickly, and Hermione's eyes sprung open. Ron couldn't ask any of the important questions just yet, but it was plain she had no recollection of Quirrell attacking her. Instead, she had other concerns on her mind.
"It's Wednesday!? God! How many classes have I missed? Is there any homework that I don't know about? Why, of course there is, why wouldn't there be?"
"You're feeling better then?" Ron asked, amused, having his first honest smile since the day of the match. The girl didn't share his mood, but he knew how to fix it. "No need to get all fussed, I wrote it all down for you."
Madam Pomfrey came to check on her, blurting out complaints about monstrous potions. Thankfully, she announced that Hermione should be free to leave the next day.
Seeing Hermione up on her feet brought Ron a reasonable amount of calm, but also an uneasiness about his next step — if it was even possible to feel those two things at once.
o0o0o
With Hermione still giving murderous looks to anyone who so much as dared distract her from her pending homework, and Harry's Saturday Quidditch practice, Ron had no trouble making it to Hogsmeade that morning. He didn't even need the Marauder's Map, as Filch wasn't on the lookout for a first-year who could cast a proper Disillusionment Charm and knew all the passages out of Hogwarts by heart.
It was so that Ron made it in time to the Shrieking Shack, still unsure of what he would do once he met Saul Croaker, or if the bloke would even show up in the first place.
The morning had dawned crisp, yet when the awaited hour approached, the fog had all but cleared from the surrounding woods. The Shrieking Shack stood not far from Ron, a version of it that had never seen him inside its decaying walls.
It didn't take long for a man to appear in the terrains in front of the shack, not a minute too late or too early. He was inspecting his surroundings, interested yet suspicious. He had a flawless suit under his cloak, and a contemptuous look under his square glasses. He reminded Ron of Percy in his bad years, only with a fuller face and brown grey-stricken hair.
"I wasn't sure if you would come," Ron called, coming out of his hiding place.
The man gave a small jump, his eyes brushing disdainfully over Ron and his surroundings as if expecting someone else.
"Is this some sort of joke?" he asked.
"In some twisted way, perhaps, but that joke's on me," Ron said, then clarified the matter at the man's unamused reaction. "Are you Saul Croaker?"
The man adjusted his glasses, "I am, but then you're—"
"I'm Ron Weasley. I wrote you that letter. I was hoping that you might be able to help me."
It was a huge moment. The first time Ron was going to reveal his secret to anyone since he came back in time.
"You're a student."
The statement wasn't surprising. Even on a Hogsmeade weekend students didn't wander by the Shrieking Shack, much less send cryptic letters to complete strangers.
"I am one now, but I was also one a few years back — or from now, depending on how you prefer to talk about this blasted thing," Ron went on. "I'm from the future. Something like twelve years from now, last time I checked. This is my younger self's body, but my memories time travelled here; all because of that mirror you created."
"The future? It— It works?" he started, a brief smile was soon dropped from his face, "But how? It isn't supposed to be this way!"
Even for a man who worked in the Time Room, the news wasn't easy to digest. "Shocker! It does," Ron muttered, extending his arms as if to point out the evidence. "I can prove it. I don't know what I can tell you to make you believe me, but do you know any first-year who can do this?"
Croaker was effectively flabbergasted as he witnessed Ron casting a non-verbal Disillusionment Charm, followed by an effortless corporeal patronus. As his Jack Russell terrier pranced through the trees, Croaker stared in awe. "I haven't told anyone about the Ageing Mirror, it's merely a prototype."
Just as Ron had feared.
"But you can finish it, can't you? I mean, I know you can, but is there any way of doing it faster? I can't stay here much longer, I—"
A frown came to the man at once, and he extended his arm to stop Ron from walking any closer to him. "Stop! Stop this nonsense right now!"
"What? What do you mean?"
"Do you want your future destroyed?"
Ron was caught off guard, thinking of his wife. "Why— hell no. I liked it there, that's why I want to go back."
And because I'm making a bleeding mess of this time.
"Then you shouldn't have written to me! I wanted to create that mirror for purely academic purposes. To understand more about Time itself, not to visit the past leisurely whenever I see fit!"
"That's not what happened! It was an accident!"
"It doesn't matter, does it? Time is a mystery and you might be tampering with its stability just by being here. If you cared about your future at all, you wouldn't have been this selfish. You would have gotten your memory erased the moment you got here," the man hissed, pointing an accusing finger at him.
Whatever Ron had been expecting, it wasn't this. "No, listen, I do care. That's why I'm here. You don't understand, if you just listened to me—"
"I won't listen to another word. Merlin knows I've heard too much already, and I won't be an accomplice to this mockery of Time," he lambasted, taking a few steps back as if frightened by Ron's very existence. "Don't write to me again. If you have any sense left, you'll do what you must."
And just like that, he disappeared with a crack, leaving Ron perturbed by what he'd been told. None of the times he had thought about this meeting had he imagined Saul Croaker spitting fire on his hopes like that, as if they were nothing but an old wooden house.
This was how things were now. There was no way back.
'There was, only that you were too selfish to take it', Croaker's words lingered in the empty space, only they sounded an awful lot like the older Hermione voicing them.
He kicked a rock, too hard. He wailed and huffed.
"It's not like I can do anything about it now, can I?! It's too bloody late! I fucked up! There! That's what you wanted me to say!?" he yelled into the woods, then added almost in a whisper. "I fucked up."
If he was addressing Saul Croaker, or Fate, or Time, or something else, he wasn't sure; but at least he was lucky enough that there was no one around to hear him.
There was no answer, just the rustling sound of a few leaves. Deflated, Ron dragged his feet back to the castle.
o0o0o
The next day, Ron didn't want to wake up. He'd spent the whole afternoon keeping an eye on Hermione from afar, making sure she was never alone. While he did so, he had pondered about his fate. Mostly about how all of his time-saving efforts felt like a useless waste of time now, but also considering if he should just go to Dumbledore and get his memory erased once and for all.
He couldn't do so until he made sure Hermione was safe — or at least as safe as she had been in the original timeline. However, maybe that old nosewise Croaker was right and it was what he should've done in the first place.
Ron would have gladly kept brooding over it on Sunday as well, if it weren't for Harry's uncommon eagerness to get him into the common room. It was there that Ron discovered what all the fuss was about.
"Happy birthday, Ickle little Ronnie!" George said, as Fred and Percy approached.
It was his birthday already? He had completely forgotten about it. How old was he anyway? Twelve? Twenty-four? Something in between?
There were presents of course, as there usually was. There was a letter from the Burrow, and some sweets as well. The twins gave him a small sour gumball that made his eyebrows go the same shade of green as his hand had once been when Norberta had bitten him, back at a timeline where he might never return. It was a sad realisation, though the Canons' scarf he got from Harry did raise his spirits. Percy must have been proud of his academic performance so far, since he gifted Ron with a favourite spellbook of his, to give him a headstart on second-year material.
Ron thought about his past birthdays at the Burrow, and even the last reunion before he was sent to the past. For some effing reason, he also remembered fondly that George and Percy had his face all covered by raccoon fur then.
It felt like ages ago.
All in all, the celebration was a joyful affair. Ron even got best wishes from Alice Tolipan, who was passing by the common room when the whole thing was going on. He didn't get anything from Hermione though.
"It's your birthday? Why didn't you tell me?" the girl demanded when he had met her at the library later. Her table was loaded with books as she was still going over her missing schoolwork.
Ron shrugged, "Dunno. Forgot about it, I guess. You know now though, March the first."
"Only because your brothers told me. They asked what I got for you. Imagine how that went," Hermione blurted, then turned back to her book with her face flushed. "I should thank you by the way. I wasn't aware you spent so much time in the Hospital Wing when I was ill."
Of course the twins had to say something about that.
"I couldn't leave you alone. And don't mind those prats, they're just taking the mickey on you. You didn't have to give me anything."
"Well, I would have very much liked to do so. We're friends, aren't we?"
Ron was somewhat astonished, as there seemed to be an honest uncertainty in her expression. "Are you mental? Why do you even have to ask? Of course we are!"
"Then you should've told me about it. You know my birthday," Hermione accused. She must have noticed Ron's startled reaction, because she explained, "I heard you telling Madam Pomfrey when she was filling her records."
Well, crap.
At least that was after she woke up. He didn't need her to remember things he might have said while he thought she was unconscious.
"You told me," Ron tried. He had no other way out. It wasn't like he could've heard it from anybody else.
"I did?"
In another timeline.
"Positive."
Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously, even dropping her quill for a moment. She was making an effort to remember, and it surprised Ron when she sighed and let it go. "You must be right. It wouldn't be the first thing I have trouble remembering."
"What do you mean?"
It was then that Ron found out that she couldn't remember a good chunk of things. She had asked Pomfrey about it, but the matron blamed it on the altered Forgetfulness Potion. After speaking to her a while longer, it was as plain as a day that there was more to it than that.
Her memories were especially blurry in anything even remotely related to Professor Quirrell. Hermione had no recollection about Quirrell messing with Harry's broom, and after she reluctantly listened to Ron's story about the third floor corridor again, she became suspicious of Snape just the same as Harry.
Ron knew what had really happened, and it angered him to no end. It really had been Quirrell who'd attacked Hermione, and not only that, but he had aggressively obliviated her of any memory he had found troubling. It was a perfect move for him, still, he could have caused plenty of damage to Hermione's memories by altering so far back, and in such a forcible manner. That was the reason why Quirrell hadn't appeared worried about Hermione surviving, he already got what he wanted, no matter if she survived or not.
No. Not just Quirrell. Something as complex as this would have been done by Voldemort himself.
Ron shivered in rage imagining what Hermione must have gone through.
The next week was such a regular one that it was stunning how life-changing it was for Ron. Suddenly, and after months of stumbling attempts, everything had fallen into place almost perfectly. And because of what Voldemort had done, of all things.
Hermione was looking for Nicolas Flamel just as enthusiastically as Harry, and she was suspecting Snape instead of Quirrell. Harry seemed to have accepted Hermione's presence, and even if the two of them weren't exactly friends yet, they were more than fine spending time together for Ron's sake.
It was all Ron had desired for months, to keep the timeline as it was. It was also just what he needed to get his memories erased and let everything else move forward as it should. It was the ideal solution to his doubts, but still, it felt completely wrong.
Voldemort had been free to do something that Ron had never foreseen, and which he should have never allowed to happen. What if that prick feared that she could start remembering? What if he thought that she was suspecting him again? Voldemort could try the same trick again, or even something more definite.
No. Ron couldn't make the same mistake twice.
Throughout the next Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Ron felt on the edge. He had an iron grip on his wand under the desk, and didn't lack the wish to just stand up and kick Voldemort on his noseless face. He was so open in his frowning at Quirrell that it was a small wonder that he wasn't discovered for it, and to his own astonishment, he found out that he didn't mind being caught at all. Ron preferred having to duel Voldemort right then and there than ever letting the bastard near Hermione again, and realising that changed everything.
Ron made up his mind. Everything that he had been planning ever since he had arrived didn't matter anymore. His gruelling efforts to fix the troll fight or the Quidditch match meant rubbish compared to the alternative. If he had to choose, Ron would choose Hermione over the timeline, every fucking time. Saul Croaker be damned.
There was only one thing Ron could do now. The thing he should have done since the very beginning. Quirrell had to be taken down.
After months and months of uncertainty, the decision brought a new sense of clarity and purpose to Ron. Handling Quirrell was something that finally felt right, though Dumbledore or the older Hermione might have argued in favour of keeping the timeline unchanged. Ron wasn't going to back out now though. He just needed to figure out a proper way of going about it, which wasn't the easiest gig considering the man had Voldemort attached to his bloody head.
Ron made the choice of not involving Dumbledore early on in his plan. The man wasn't evil, and it was unlikely that he would fight Ron over his decision with anything other than words, but in spite of that, he just couldn't risk it. Ron had come all the way here protecting his memories, he wasn't going to surrender them now.
That, of course, meant that he needed to get Quirrell alone and at a disadvantage where no one could get hurt. Not Hermione, not Harry, not Fred… Not a single unsuspecting student. He also needed to find a way to neutralise him without actually killing him, if it could be helped— he wasn't a cold-blooded murderer. Voldemort might also escape, even if Ron caught Quirrell, which meant that Ron had to keep his identity from being revealed in the encounter. If he could do all that and on top of it avoid getting bitten by Hagrid's dragon, he would call that a sound plan.
A piece of cake.
That being the case, several days passed before Ron had even the faintest idea on how to proceed.
He didn't let Hermione out of his sight during that time, which meant plenty of visits to the library. At first, he feared Harry might start avoiding them, but the mystery of Nicolas Flamel kept him and Hermione focused on a common goal. Still, even when Harry had warmed up to Hermione and was fine with her tagging along to Hagrid's now, he still didn't trust her enough to tell her about his invisibility cloak just yet.
All things considered, the trips to the restricted section proved convenient in more ways than one. Ron fooled Harry into thinking he was looking for Flamel, when in truth he was skimming over the pages for some spell that could help him deal with Quirrell, or Voldemort for that matter.
Sooner rather than later — and before Ron even considered dropping a casual chocolate frog card over their laps — the right book found its way to Hermione's hand.
"The Philosopher's Stone?" asked Harry once Hermione put the book on Nicolas Flamel's life achievements before them.
"Don't you read anything?" she blurted in an exasperated tone, earning a frown from Harry. "It's a mythical substance that alchemists use to turn some metals into gold, such as…" Hermione frowned, then scanned over the book again, "Mercury, and, well, among others."
"So that's what the dog is guarding? Flamel's stone?" Ron asked, faking surprise.
"More than likely. Didn't know he was close to Professor Dumbledore though," she mumbled, inquisitively.
Proof that a chocolate frog card is a more reliable source of knowledge than a book.
As time passed, Hermione started giving pointers to Harry about his studies, especially in the subjects that Ron neglected, like History of Magic. It was still not the same, since Ron was doing good in most classes, most of Hermione's remarks of not studying enough were now solely directed at Harry. The boy appreciated the help, but he wasn't in the least excited about being so far behind compared to them. Hermione had more or less recovered in her schoolwork, though the memory accident meant that she had to put way more effort than usual.
Those days Ron wondered about the future, his new future. Particularly, he wondered what changing time would mean for him. Would this be a one time thing, or would he think about getting Sirius out of Azkaban for instance?
He wasn't entirely sure, he was doing this to protect Hermione, not because he thought this timeline wasn't worth preserving. Although, probably changing this one thing so blatantly meant that there was no point in preserving anything anymore.
Whatever the case, that was something future-Ron should worry about. First, Ron had to figure out what the hell he was going to do with Quirrellmort, and once that was taken care of he would have to decide what to do with the mad life he was given.
Who knows? Maybe I can convince Croaker to help once I show him proof there's no way to save the timeline with obliviate.
Soon, Ron learned a couple of spells that would be useful for his task, so he was probably as prepared to face Quirrell as he would ever be. He only needed a place and time to go about it, away from Dumbledore's prying eyes.
For a few days, Ron had even kept tabs on Quirrell's movements, thinking his excursions to the forbidden forest provided the perfect opportunity to catch him alone and unaware. Unfortunately, Ron couldn't figure out which days he went out or even how often, as the man was incredibly elusive — which he had to be in order to fool Dumbledore.
Ron was starting to think he would have to deal with the whole Norberta affair, when the right opportunity came to him one afternoon.
"And that's mate," Ron said as he slid his rook all the way to the end of the board, giving Seamus a grin.
"Blooming heck! I thought I got you there," the boy lamented.
"Not a fat chance of that, mate. You were always on your back."
"I was, but I still got that pawn from you, didn't I? The one you missed at the start."
How thick could he be?
"You didn't get it, I gave it to you! That's why it's called a gambit. You offer a piece or an advantage in order to get a more favourable position and—"
"What is it?" Harry, who'd noticed Ron's gobsmacked reaction, asked.
"Erhm, nothing. It's just— Nothing really."
There was something alright. Ron had long discovered that chess wasn't of any use in a wizarding duel, though in few cases, such as this one, it provided a fresh perspective on things. If he had something Quirrell wanted, Ron could offer it as bait, and see if the gambit produced a better position for him.
He had just the thing to offer to gain Voldemort's trust, though he had to minimise suspicion, posing as someone whose nature the evil wizard would understand. A greedy tosser.
That was how Ron started his first casual letter to Lord Voldemort. If it was successful, that piece of paper might provide just the opening Ron needed. If it wasn't… Well, better not to dwell on that scenario.
The words themselves were scarce, but concrete enough to let Voldemort know that he had information that — if given to Dumbledore — would be the end of his ruse. So, after making sure everything else was in place, he finished the letter in the only way he could.
"Don't waste a precious dragon egg on that oaf," Ron wrote. "Give it to me, and in return I'll help you get what you crave. The Philosopher's Stone."
So I'm very proud of this chap, not because I think it was one of my best chaps or anything (that honor may belong to Halfblood Weasleys chap6, perhaps?)... I am proud of this because I put the fallout from last chap's cliffhanger, Ron and Dumbledore's first meeting, Hermione recovering, Saul Croaker, Ron's birthday and the Dragon Gambit... ALL in less than 8K words. I mean, that was a hell of condensing for what was 2 chapters worth of material.
Next Chapter: The Forbidden Plan
3 more chaps to go.